The Clover Among the Poppies
by The Yankee Countess
Summary: WW1 S/T AU. Sybil Crawley is serving as a nurse near the front lines in France, and though it's what she's wanted, it's not like anything she could have imagined. Admist the horror and devastation, she finds a friend in Irish ambulance driver, Tom Branson, whose political and anti-war views challenge her mind, and whose passionate spirit challenges her heart.
1. Chapter 1

_NEW STORY! (I know, I know, what is she doing, writing a new story when she has all these other ones to finish?) Well, this is a story that has a very clear (to me) deadline, and that I was inspired to write with August's Rock the AU theme: WW1. While (sadly) I still haven't had a chance to watch "The Crimson Field", the show's premise did inspire me as well, to write an S/T AU with Sybil as a nurse on the front lines, and so with that idea in mind *and* with this month's theme, I couldn't resist. _

_However, this story, as I said, does have a clear-ish deadline, because I am going to *try* to do one of those 30-Day writing challenges, where as often as possible, try to update this story. I am realistic enough to know that that may not happen *every* day (as much as I want to) however, I am going to try, and the chapters will remain somewhat "short" (1000 words or less) and each chapter will be "guided" by a piece of dialogue (obtained through a drabble-prompt post I saw on tumblr). So anyway, HERE is this new story, posted today on Aug. 4, the 100th anniversary of Britain's announcement that they were entering The Great War._

_Dedicating this to **Patano** (happy belated birthday!)_

_**PROMPT:** "Give me your hand."_

* * *

**The Clover Among the Poppies  
**_A "rock the WW1" AU  
__**by The Yankee Countess**_

_November, 1916_

The others are all looking at her with disgust, not that she can blame them. She has her head hanging over the side of the lorry, and every few seconds she vomits anew. God, her stomach hurts. She's been sick ever since their journey began across the Channel.

"Just hang on a little longer, Sybil! We're almost there!"

She's grateful for the familiar voice of her cousin, though really, the words "almost there" are what really bring her relief. She can trust Matthew to not mention any of this to her family back home. If her mother could see her now, she would no doubt swoop in and wrap her up in cotton wool, whisking her back to Downton, while chastising her on this "mad desire" to join the Red Cross.

That was two years ago.

She still remembers that day, the Downton Garden Party, how it was sunny and beautiful, the perfect ending to her first season in London. During the entire journey back from London, her mother could talk nothing more than her various prospects with Lord so-and-so, already planning the wedding before there was a groom.

Who knows? If the War hadn't happened, maybe she would be married by now?

But War did happen. And it still chills her, to remember how that beautiful day was interrupted by her father's announcement that Britain was at war with Germany.

August 4, 1914. A month later, Cousin Matthew enlisted, along with a great many others.

Poor fools; they didn't know then what they know now. But really, what does she know? She's heard stories during her training at the college, and during the months she's served at the hospital. But she's never seen the horror first hand…

Till now.

"We're here!" she hears Matthew cry from where he's sitting, and Sybil lifts her head to finally take in the landscape around her.

The camp is littered with tents, spread evenly around. There are small campfires here and there, and soldiers of varying ranks walking about. Most are privates from what she can see, but there are some officers, though they seem to stay clumped together, talking amongst themselves, yet all seem to pause in their conversation as they watch the lorry pull up.

The vehicle comes to a bit of a jerking halt, which doesn't do her sensitive stomach any favors. Two privates rush forward and open the back of the lorry, and it isn't missed by Sybil how the nurses who were sitting close to her, are the first who rush to exit the back of the truck.

"Well, here we are!" Matthew announces once again, coming around to the back of the lorry, and looking far too cheerful for a man who has returned to the front. But she knows he's doing that for her benefit, to put her at ease. He had promised her parents that he would look out for her, and she truly does believe that if not for Matthew, her parents would have done everything in their power to prevent her from making the journey to France.

"Capt. Crawley!" a young man calls, and Matthew is momentarily distracted by the soldier, turning to salute the man before listening to whatever news he has to deliver.

Sybil is the last to exit the lorry, and while her stomach is still churning, ever so slightly, she decides to climb down herself despite it…which turns out not to have been her best idea, as her legs are a bit shaky, and her head is spinning slightly, and she no doubt would have made an even bigger fool of herself…if a strong hand hadn't reached for her then, grasping her elbow to keep her balanced.

She turns to the stranger, and stares…her own eyes unblinking as she gazes back at the bluest eyes she's ever seen.

"Give me your hand," the stranger murmurs, offering his free hand (the one that isn't holding onto her elbow) for her to grasp.

_Irish,_ she realizes, at the sound of his accent. It's at that moment that she realizes his uniform isn't like any of the soldiers around her. And he's wearing an armband, similar to her own, with the image of the Red Cross. Is he a medic? A doctor? A—

"Sybil?"

She's shaken by the sound of a familiar voice saying her name. She turns her head and gasps as she recognizes a familiar face to go with that voice. "Tom!?"

"HA! It is you!" her childhood friend exclaims, coming over to where she's standing, and relieving the stranger from his duties of helping her down. Sybil turns her head to thank the man, but he's already walking away.

"Well, I don't know whether to be surprised or not," her friend chuckles, drawing her attention back to him. "You did say, if memory serves, that 'by hook or by crook', you would be serving at the front lines, along with the rest of Britain's finest."

Sybil blushes, remembering statement, one she had made after she had completed her training in York.

"Indeed, which explains why you're here! Though I suppose I should address you properly, _Dr. Bellasis."_

"Actually," he chuckles. "It's _Capt_. Bellasis now, _Nurse Crawley_."

"Good heavens!" Sybil gasps. "Well…congratulations; was it recent? Imogen didn't mention anything—"

"My sister prefers not to dwell on anything related to the War," he sighs. "Including her brother. But enough of that, come! I'll show you the nurses station and our meager 'hospital wing', where you will meet Sister Agatha. A word of warning—she never smiles."

Despite her nervousness, Sybil does giggle and for the briefest of moments, manages to forget that she's in a foreign land, thousands of miles away from home, and that just beyond their camp, the distant sounds of gunfire can be heard.

War is everywhere, and now, she's in the thick of it.

_To be continued..._

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_Thank you for reading! Would love to hear what you think!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much for the feedback! Like I said yesterday, I'm going to *try* to stay on top of this and update each day, but we'll see! Anyway, THANK YOU again for reading and following!_

_**Prompt:** "Everything's going to be fine."_

* * *

His name was Jacob, and he was the gardener's nephew. A fortnight since her father's announcement at the garden party had yet to pass, before the lad sought him out to seek permission to enlist.

He was the first of Downton's young, strong, and able-bodied men to enlist.

…He was also the first to die.

The newspapers made everything sound wonderful; Britain's lads fighting for their country, their king, for the honor and glory of Britain. Nothing was ever said about the bloodshed, the terror that those boys were facing. Old Mr. Smeaton, Downton's gardener and Jacob's uncle was the one who woke Sybil from the trance that the British papers had placed on the country. She had come to offer her condolences, to say the words people were supposed to say, about how brave Jacob was, how proud his family must be despite this horrible loss, but she couldn't say them…not when she saw the old man, bent over and weeping as he held a blood-stained letter that had apparently been on Jacob's body when he died.

_Yesterday I saw my best friend die. I don't want to die. I want to go home._

Jacob was the first casualty from Downton…and he wasn't the last.

"NURSE CRAWLEY!"

Sybil's shaken from her thoughts by the roar of Sister Agatha, a small woman who upon first glance, you would never guess she possessed such a voice.

"Yes, Sister!" she answers, the same way she's seen privates answer generals. It's not so different; Sister Agatha is their general, and while she can come across as a fierce and unforgiving taskmaster, she treats each and every nurse the same, something Sybil admires and respects.

"They need a nurse to ride in the ambulance—go."

Sybil's eyes widen. She's been there for nearly three weeks, but has yet to ride in the ambulance that makes the treacherous journey from the trenches to the camp. Because that's what it means; she will be going to the trenches to help receive the wounded.

"I…" she swallows, fear suddenly gripping her heart. "…Me?" she stammers, because she's having a difficult time believing what's been told. Just like when she went to see Mr. Smeaton…she's once again being shaken awake from a trance.

Sister Agatha has already started to walk away, but turns around and glares at her. "Yes!" she barks. "Now go! Men are lying in the mud, facing death thanks to your hesitation!"

She doesn't question Sister Agatha further. With a deep breath, Sybil turns and leaves the hospital tent, seeing the very ambulance she is to ride in, waiting.

Standing beside the vehicle, smoking a cigarette, is Cpl. Barrow, who makes a face at seeing her approach. "Sister Agatha sent _you?_" he mutters, taking one last puff before stomping what's left of his cigarette under his boot.

Sybil straightens her shoulders and nods her head. She has a bit of a sullied reputation amongst the other nurses and medics for her sensitive stomach. "I'm fine," she assures, trying to sound braver than she feels. She didn't eat much that morning, at least.

Cpl. Barrow shrugs his shoulders and opens the ambulance doors, urging her inside. Sybil sits beside him and he pounds his fist on the small window that separates them from the driver. "Go!" he shouts, and suddenly the ambulance is moving.

Sybil holds tight to her seat, and silently recites the lessons her teachers and superior nurses taught her back at school. Before she made the journey to France, she and her fellow nurses were warned about what they might see, but even the most vivid, and well-described image is nothing to the real thing.

_You have a job to do, you are capable. These men need you; they need the hands of a competent nurse, not a frightened earl's daughter. You can do this, you MUST do this!_

She gasps as the ambulance suddenly comes to a halt, and all around her she can hear the sounds of men shouting, guns firing, and chaos erupting.

When the ambulance doors open, there are medics already waiting, some holding stretchers, others with men dangling on the edge of life slung over their shoulders and backs, all in need of serious medical treatment.

She doesn't wait for Cpl. Barrow to shout at her to move, she's already moving.

Sybil leaps down from the back of the ambulance and immediately gets to work, helping these poor men into the vehicle, pressing blood-soaked rags to open wounds in an effort to stop the unending flow of blood, assessing various injuries as medics carry the bodies into the ambulance.

Some men are crying, others are screaming; some are deathly silent.

"That's it! That's all we can hold!" Cpl. Barrow shouts. "Get back in, Nurse Crawley," he orders, before turning to shout something at the driver.

…But the driver isn't there.

She hears Cpl. Barrow swear, "Bloody Branson!" and follows his searching eyes to a man who is carrying another across his shoulders, as if he weighed little more than a sack of flour.

"We're too full! We can't take him!"

"We'll make room," the driver (Branson) mutters to Cpl. Barrow. "I'm not leaving him behind."

She recognizes his voice before she sees his face. She's already moving towards him to help him get the injured man inside, and it's then that their eyes meet…again…and Sybil is once more struck by how blue they are.

_The Irishman who helped her out of the lorry._

"Do you have him?" he asks her, and Sybil nods her head. Her arms are around the injured soldier, and with strength she never knew she possessed until she started her training, she hoists the man up into the ambulance, before helping him to sit down, crammed next to other patients.

"Everything's going to be fine," she murmurs to the soldier, but his unfocused gaze reveals he's not there, but still back on the battlefield.

She continues to repeat the words, even though she too struggles with believing them. But that's just what you're supposed to say. Sometimes she's amazed at how similar being a nurse and being a Lady are…

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you again for the amazing feedback! We've a long way to go, and it's going to be angsty at certain places, but I do what I can to try and make it worth it! ALSO, just to clear up a little confusion, in this particular AU verse, Thomas (Cpl. Barrow) never worked at Downton and has no connection to Downton. And yes, while we've only seen him once in this story so far, there will be more of Matthew too. OK! Again, thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts! They are very much appreciated._

_**Prompt:** "That's a good look for you."_

* * *

"HOLD HIM STEADY!" Capt. Bellasis barks as the patient violently thrashes on the operating table. Sybil is practically sprawled across the soldier's legs in an effort to keep him from kicking any of the other nurses.

The man was told that his left arm will have to be removed, to which he began to wail and beg that they not cut it off, revealing that he's left-handed, and a fisherman from Devon. How can he work if he doesn't have both hands? When his pleas fell on deaf ears, he began to thrash, and it didn't help that the soldier was a large lad, reminding Sybil in many ways of Carson, based on his size. It will take twice the amount of chloroform to silence him.

Her friend continues to bark orders while Sybil continues to do her best to keeping the patient steady, even though she feels herself being shaken to and fro. The place is different, but she's been a situation like this before.

On her first day at the York hospital, just after she had completed her training, she found herself thrust into helping a doctor amputate a soldier's leg. That man could barely move, so severe were his injuries. Yet while he didn't violently thrash, he did cry and beg and Sybil was ordered to "keep him calm".

When it was over, she retreated outside and found solace behind a tool shed, where she wept herself for a good, long while.

The drugs seem to be doing their trick, as the soldier's struggles begin to lessen. She's barely managed to straighten herself before she hears Sister Agatha shouting her name.

"Nurse Crawley! Go see to the new patients who have just arrived!"

Sybil simply nods and turns to look at Capt. Bellasis, but he's already in deep concentration on the task he must perform. So without another glance she leaves the makeshift operating room, pushing aside the sheets that serve as walls, and exits the tent where the ambulance has just stopped.

She pushes aside a sweaty strand of hair and watches as the driver—Branson—leaps out from behind the steering wheel and quickly moves to the back to open the ambulance.

They haven't really spoken, but she's heard some of the other nurses talk.

"_Handsome, that one."_

"_Not as handsome as Capt. Bellasis or Lt. Grey."_

"_Speak for yourself."_

"_I like his accent."_

"Hey."

Sybil shakes her head, realizing that he's talking to her. He's gesturing for her to come over and she doesn't waste any more time. If there weren't men in need of medical care, maybe she would take the time to blush over the thoughts she had just been having…

Once again, the ambulance is full. One thing she has learned about this driver, Branson, is that he will always find a way to take an extra injured man back, even when someone like Cpl. Barrow is saying there isn't any room.

A few of the soldiers tell her they can walk, but she still helps them out of the ambulance, taking charge as she assesses their injuries. "Nurse Lee! Nurse Fischer!" she calls to two women she sees near the hospital entrance. "Help these men—let the nurses help you, Private!" she scolds one of the soldiers, who staggers at best when he tries to move on his own. The other men in the ambulance are on their sides or backs, and she can tell that their injuries are a great deal more severe. "Mr. Branson," she addresses the driver. "Will you help me, please?"

He looks a little surprised at first, but nods his head and quickly climbs into the ambulance to grab one end of a stretcher while she takes the other. Together, they manage to carry the soldier out of the ambulance and into the hospital tent.

"We need help; there are at least five more!" Sybil announces as they enter the tent.

No one responds.

The smell of tobacco fills her nostrils and she turns her head, seeing Cpl. Barrow talking between puffs to some handsome officer. "CPL. BARROW!" she thunders, doing her best to imitate Sister Agatha. "You can smoke later; right now we have patients to attend!"

Cpl. Barrow looks surprised by her shout, and his eyes quickly narrow into a look of displeasure. His companion, however, looks more amused than anything else, and despite Sybil's shout and the stern expression she's wearing, takes the time to let his eyes run up and down her figure.

"That's an ORDER, Barrow!"

She has no right to order him, she knows that. He's the superior to her "lowly rank" in this place. But still, there are men who need their help, and she will do what she can to help them, including shouting orders like as a general would.

Cpl. Barrow mutters something as he stomps out his cigarette, and growls at two other nearby medics to help him, as he leads the way back to the ambulance. The officer he was smoking with gives her one last, appreciative look, before following.

The sound of chuckling fills her ears, and she's shocked to see that it's coming from the Irishman of all people!

"What's so funny?" she demands, rather indignantly.

He tries (in vain) to control his chuckles. "I'm not laughing at you, I swear," he explains. "Rather, I was enjoying seeing you take charge and put those gits in their place. That's a good look for you."

She's not quite sure how to respond to that…or the crooked smile he seems to be giving her. So instead, she returns her focus back to where it needs to be. "Help me get him to that table," she mutters, and without another word, he does just that.

He helps her carry in two more patients, all done in silence, before he departs again to the trenches to fetch more of the wounded.

Sybil sighs and pushes that strand of hair away from her face once more.

They seem to be trapped in an unending cycle…

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you again for your continued feedback and readership! Obviously because of this story's setting, there will be mentions of intense violence at times, so please keep that in mind as you read. More develops between our favorite nurse and Irishman; thanks again for reading!_

_"Susan", a character of my own creation who was Sybil's roommate at York makes an appearance in this story too._

_**Prompt:** "Please stay."_

* * *

Cousin Isobel had warned her it would be difficult, but that didn't stop Sybil from wanting to pursue her education to become a nurse. And not simply a "volunteer auxiliary nurse", as Isobel had suggested. No, she wanted to be a _proper_ nurse, one who would do more than make beds and bring hot drinks. And…though she didn't tell her family at the time, she wanted to go to where the men were fighting, to be there and serve as they were serving.

She wanted to work, she wanted a real job. She wanted to make a difference…

But her cousin was right, it _was_ difficult, and Sybil believes that had it not been for Susan, the woman who shared her dormitory room, but who quickly became her good friend, she would not have lasted the entire course.

Susan encouraged her, befriended her, supported her; Susan listened to her worries, shared in her mutterings, and laughed at her jokes. They studied together, helped each other in preparing for exams, worked side by side at the hospital in York. Yes, they were nurses, but they were also dear friends, and Sybil knew, no matter what happened during her time in York, she had Susan to whom she could turn to, and vice versa.

…But there's no one like that here.

Not for the first time, does Sybil wish Susan were there.

While she's been on "friendly terms" with some of the other nurses, none of them have exactly "warmed up" to her. There are a few who aren't exactly sure what to make of her, who even thought she was lying when they heard she was the daughter of an earl. For this reason, there are some who don't quite trust her, who think she can't handle the intensity of their work because of her aristocratic upbringing. And then there are some who don't seem to like her at all, who wish she would just go away, and do everything they can to exclude her and make her feel excluded.

She tries to tell herself that it doesn't matter; there are more important things to do here than "make friends", and besides, that's not why she became a nurse.

But there are days, like this one, where she wishes for a friend.

A boy died in her arms today. She had traveled to the trenches a second time, and there was a lad, not even eighteen, gasping and choking on his own blood, caused the wound he was clutching over his chest. Sybil did everything she could, everything she recalled from her training; she pressed the soaked rag against his wound, applying all the pressure that she could, squeezing his searching hand, their fingers slick with his blood, and looking into his frightened eyes, telling him over and over to just hold on, they would help him, he just needed to hold on…

He was dead by the time they arrived.

He's not the first patient to die under her care. But something about that boy's frightened look, that desperation to speak but not being able too, because his lungs were too full of blood…

And she didn't even know his name.

There are so many whose names she doesn't know. And so many who have been killed beyond recognition that when the death lists are distributed amongst the senior officers, there are question marks beside certain names, because the sad, honest truth is…they just don't know.

She thinks about that boy now. Thinks about him, and all the other nameless men who have died, but who are summed up as just a question mark on some piece of paper.

She can't bear it.

Sybil retreats outside the hospital tent, goes several yards until she spots a tree, one with a wide oak that will hide her body, and she collapses against it and sinks down to the earth, her hands covering her face as she weeps.

Oh God, more than ever, she longs for a friend…

"…Nurse Crawley?"

Sybil gasps and lifts her head, surprised that she's been found, and quickly wipes at her cheeks as she looks at her visitor. Not that she needs to; he's the only Irishman she knows around here.

"I didn't mean to intrude," he murmurs, and without further question, takes a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to her.

Sybil sniffles but thanks him, accepting the offer and blowing her nose. He doesn't say anything, nor questions her as to why she's crying. He doesn't have to, because he was there; he was the one who found her holding the dead boy when he opened the ambulance doors.

"His name was Duncan," he tells her.

Sybil's eyes widen and she looks back at Branson in surprise. How did he…?

"He was seventeen—lied to the army, apparently. He was from Glasgow, and his father works at a whisky distillery there. He would have worked there too, but he hated the job, which might explain why he enlisted," he sighs.

Sybil's mouth is hanging open. "How…?"

"I try to learn everything I can about the men that I transport, especially the young ones. Someone has to," he mutters, and she can hear the bitterness in his voice. "Just because they're not officers, doesn't mean their stories shouldn't be told."

She mutely nods her head in agreement, still surprised by his knowledge, as well as by the passion with which he speaks.

He looks back at her, and there's tenderness in his eyes. "There's no shame in crying," he tells her. "I think their families would be glad to know that someone cared enough to mourn for their lad."

She's grateful for his words, and despite her tears, manages to smile back at him.

He sighs and starts to lean away. "Anyway, I'll leave you alone—"

"Please stay," she calls out, looking up at him and even stretching her hand out.

He looks at her hand…and without another word, takes it in his own, before silently joining her against the tree.

That's how, in the midst of this madness, she found her friend.

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks again for your continued feedback and support! I'm glad you're enjoying the "build-up" between Sybil and Tom. I think you'll like this chapter. And for those of you who wondered if a certain someone was going to be making an appearance..._

_**Prompt:** "Come on."_

* * *

This isn't what her mother wanted for her. None of it is.

Ever since she turned sixteen, her mother couldn't stop talking about her impending coming-out ball and debut season, even though it was two years away. A mere detail such as "time" wasn't going to stop Cora Crawley from making plans. When Sybil turned eighteen, she was already sick at the thought of her ball. Something that was supposed to be exciting just felt tedious and superficial. And while she was looking forward to going to London and seeing the hustle and bustle of the capital, she just really couldn't care less about the entire thing.

She had her fair share of admirers and dance partners, including Tom Bellasis, Imogen's older brother and a dear friend of the family. And while the ball was better than she had anticipated, she didn't see it as this grand, romantic adventure the way in which her mother wanted it to be. She loved dancing, yes, and she laughed and smiled while being twirled in the arms of various handsome gentlemen, but none of them struck her as her own "prince charming", to use her mother's words. She did not leave London with any impending marriage proposals, nor did she leave with a wistful heart.

It was understandable, she supposed, that her mother would want her to find love and make a good match. After all, that was what she had been taught; and that was the expectation of what ladies were supposed to do. Wasn't that what Mary had once muttered to her? _"Our lives are just one long waiting room, until a husband comes and fetches us."_

But she didn't want to sit and wait for something to happen. She didn't want her only goal in life to become some man's wife. And she certainly didn't feel that she needed "rescuing" from her solitude.

Unlike her sisters, she's only experienced _one_ London Season, so her skills at deflecting…unwanted attention…have yet to be perfected. Having lived a relatively sheltered life in Yorkshire, she's simply not used to…"flirtatious behavior".

But they aren't in Yorkshire, they're not even in England. Perhaps that's why they seem so…persistent. The "rules" of home aren't here to stop them.

She wrote to Susan not long after arriving, and has finally received a reply. She's in the large tent that serves as their dining hall, purposefully sitting in a solitary place to read her letter, when a shadow falls across her light.

An unwanted shadow.

"Good evening, Nurse Crawley…"

She doesn't bother lifting her eyes. "Lieutenant," she mumbles.

"A letter from home?"

"MmmHmm."

"From your sweetheart?"

Sybil lifts her eyes then, her mouth open in surprise. Lt. Grey simply smirks. "Well?"

She frowns and returns her gaze to her letter. "That is neither your concern nor your business."

"Come on," he teases, and much to her irritation, takes the chair across from her. "You can tell me."

Perhaps ignoring him will do the trick? Perhaps he'll get bored and go in search of another to flirt with?

"A pretty thing like you…" he murmurs, his voice slick and oily. "You probably have an entire string of them pining for you."

She glares at him, wishing she could wipe that smug smile off his face. "I am not a 'thing', Lieutenant."

"But you are pretty, and you never answered my question."

"Yes I did, and I said it's neither your concern nor your business!"

He apparently finds her irritation amusing, and while he chuckles, he makes an attempt to snatch away her letter.

But he's stopped when a hand clamps down around his wrist.

"Leave her alone," the Irish accent growls.

Lt. Grey's smirk finally disappears, and it's replaced with a look of both shock and outrage. "How dare you! Unhand me at once!"

"Only if you promise to leave her alone."

Sybil is holding her breath as she watches the scene unfold. Others are starting to notice as well.

Lt. Grey attempts to pull his wrist free from Branson's grasp, but the Irishman is stronger. "I am an officer of the British Army!" he hisses. "I am your superior, you grubby, little mi—"

A gasp goes up from those who have turned to see what all the commotion is about. But perhaps none are as stunned as Lt. Grey himself, as he stares back at Sybil, a deep, red mark forming on his cheek, while her own palm stings from the force of the slap.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Lieutenant, there…was a fly on your face," she lies. "Dirty things, carrying all sorts of disease—I couldn't risk it infecting you."

Branson coughs, but Sybil doesn't dare look at him.

Lt. Grey's eyes remain on her, hard and narrow and filled with something that leaves her feeling cold. But he rises from the chair then, wrenches his wrist out of the Irishman's grip, and without another word, turns and walks away at last.

Sybil groans and sinks back into her chair. Any onlookers quickly turn their eyes away, and she wonders if that's because of Branson and the looks he's giving them.

She feels her cheeks warm, and she glances up at him, suddenly feeling a little bashful. "Thank you," she murmurs.

He turns and looks down at her, a little surprised, but a smile slowly begins to lift at the corners of his mouth, and that cold dread she felt from Lt. Grey begins to melt away.

"I think I should be thanking you."

She lifts her chin. "What do you mean? I simply smacked a fly away from his face."

He chuckles and nods his head. "Aye, of course…"

Their eyes meet again, and they're both smiling. There seems to be an unspoken understanding between them.

"Tom."

She blinks. "Tom?"

He points to himself. "My name."

"Oh!" She blushes; she doesn't know why. "Sybil," she finds herself saying.

He smiles. "Well enjoy your letter…Sybil," he says, before turning and leaving her to do just that.

_To be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

_This one is a tad longer than 1000 words (I couldn't help it! I tried, honest!) but even after going back and trimming it down and editing it, I didn't want to take too much away. Anyhoo, it's Christmas time! And for those of you who like the growing relationship between Tom and Sybil, well I hope you like this chapter. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR READING AND ALL THE FEEDBACK!_

_**Prompt:** "Are you flirting with me?"_

* * *

_December 1916_

Like with a great many children, Christmas was Sybil's favorite time of the year. As a girl, she would sneak down into the kitchens and beg Mrs. Patmore to let her help with making biscuits for Father Christmas (her first cooking lesson). She loved helping her parents with distributing the gifts to the servants, and she especially loved decorating the giant tree that filled the Hall, always causing her nanny a moment of panic when she insisted on climbing the ladder to put an ornament on what looked like a "naked branch".

But her favorite thing about Christmas at Downton was the Servant's Ball.

As a child, she would sneak out of bed and press her face against the bannister and look down into the Hall to watch the different dancing couples, grinning at seeing Carson twirl her grandmother, or her father waltz with Mrs. Hughes. She would lend bits and baubles from her jewelry box to the housemaids for the occasion, and listen with secret envy as they talked about the thrill they felt at being the partner of one of the footmen or stable lads.

It's funny; she always found the Servant's Balls of her youth to be more exciting than the fancy balls she attended during her London Season.

"Are you excited about going back?" she hears a voice ask her, and looks up and smiles at the handsome and friendly face of her cousin. Dear Matthew; she once fancied herself in love with him, but realized that it was nothing more than a passing crush that only lasted a couple of days. Besides, it was quite clear which Crawley sister he had eyes for…

"It will be nice to see everyone again," she answers, putting her book down and smiling back at him.

His eyes sparkle and no doubt he is thinking about Mary in that moment. "Yes, it will…"

She presses her lips together and glances around the dining hall at the other nurses. Only a handful have been granted "Christmas Leave" (just like the soldiers), and Sybil can't help but wonder if, because she is a relation to Capt. Crawley, she is being given this precious chance to return and see her family for the holiday, while others must stay behind.

It certainly might explain the cold reception she's received from some of her fellow nurses as of late.

During supper, Tom Bellasis comes to her table and sighs wistfully as he takes a seat across from her. "Ah, I do envy you Sybil. I always took 'Christmas in Yorkshire' for granted and now I realize how foolish that was."

Sybil bites her lip and swallows. "I'm sorry, Tom, if I could—"

He waves his hand dismissively. "Ah, don't worry about it, or about me; I'm just being sentimental." His smile does fade a little though, and Sybil can see something in eyes, some…far-away emotion. "I know…I know that it's not exactly close by, but…" he swallows a lump in his throat. "But…would you…call on my family? Pay them a visit? Please?"

Sybil swallows, her chest tightening at the tears she can see swimming in his eyes. She doesn't trust her voice, so she simply nods her head.

He grins and murmurs a quick "thank you", before rising and making some excuse to return to the hospital tent. What's left of her appetite is gone now, so she leaves the dining hall to return to the nurse's station…but pauses on her journey as she sees a pair of legs sticking out from under the parked ambulance.

"I wish I knew how an engine worked," she finds herself saying, giggling slightly to herself as he attempts to scramble out from under the ambulance, surprised by her presence.

He rises and wipes his hands on his trousers. "I could teach you, if you'd like?" he offers, as well as offering a friendly smile, one that Sybil can't help but return.

"Actually, that's my sister's territory; she had our chauffeur give her driving lessons so she could help the tenants with their tractor."

His eyes widen, and Sybil's face goes red as she suddenly realizes what she just revealed. Even though it's deceitful, she doesn't like telling people about her life before she became a nurse.

An awkward pause falls between them, and Sybil swallows and finds herself asking, "Will you be going back to Ireland for Christmas?"

His smile fades and Sybil wishes she had kept her mouth shut.

"No, I…I'm needed here," he answers, forcing a smile to most likely put her at ease. "You?" he asks, turning the question around to no doubt avoid another awkward silence.

She blushes and looks down, but nods her head in confirmation.

"That's good," he murmurs, and then adds, "It will be good to see your family again, I think."

Yes, it will. She does miss them, truly, but at the same time…as mad as it sounds, she believes she will miss being here, too.

"So…what's a 'posh Christmas' like?"

Lord, how her face burns. She glances up at him and sees that he's folded his arms across his chest (my, they are muscular), and his eyes are lit with amusement. "I imagine you have some kind of fancy party, and lords and ladies come from near and far and it's the talk of county!"

Oh he does take enjoyment in teasing her. She haughtily lifts her chin and folds her own arms. "Before the War we did have a party, but nothing like that; it was a ball with all of the staff." She hugs herself and smiles at the memory. "It was actually my favorite part about Christmas, because we would all be together."

She glances at him…and sees him smiling back at her. "So…you would dance with the servants then?"

His question makes her blush. "Of course!" she answers, perhaps a bit too confidently.

He grins…and takes a step closer to her. "…Would you have danced with me?"

Her mouth goes dry. "Well…you're not a servant."

This does make him laugh, and Sybil finds herself giggling too. "I guess that answers that," he chuckles, and turns away from her with what sounds like a "wistful" sigh.

She surprises herself when she bluntly asks, "Are you _flirting_ with me?"

Now it's his turn to blush, but he doesn't look embarrassed (or ashamed for that matter). "Beggin' your pardon, milady," he murmurs, his voice still light and good-humored as he bows his head and wishes her a happy Christmas, before turning and walking away.

It isn't missed by her that he never answered her question.

But unlike Lt. Grey…she isn't offended.

To be honest…she's rather…_flattered_.

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

_Pretty much picking up right where the last one left off (from before Christmas to now after). Thanks again for the response! I'm glad you liked some flirty!Bransons because you'll see a bit more of that (but also some impending plot too! Don't blink! You might miss it!) :oP Again, this is a bit longer than 1000 words *sigh* but thank you for putting up with it ;o) Hope you enjoy and thank you again for reading, following, and sharing your thoughts!_

_**Prompt:** "Can we pretend I didn't just say that?"_

* * *

_January 1917_

When she first came home for Christmas after spending nearly two months in York, Sybil had prepared herself for what she thought would be an onslaught of questions on how her courses were going, what it was like to be at the college, even questions asking her about how she was managing without the aid of a maid to help her get dressed.

But there was none of that. If anything, her family acted as if they were blissfully unaware.

This past Christmas, history repeated itself. While there were questions asking if she was alright, it was quickly established by her parents and grandmother that any talk about the brutality of war or what it was like simply being a nurse over there, was not welcome discussion (the excuse being that this was "Christmas", a time to focus on positive things, such as "peace on earth").

And just like that first Christmas when she came home from York…she finds herself glad when it's time to go back.

Her mother weeps and hugs her and murmurs into her hair over and over_, "my baby, my baby!"_ before turning to Matthew and begging him to keep her safe, and only when he promises for a third time that he will, does her mother release her hold on her.

They mean well, she knows this. But Sybil can't help but feel, yet again, that they don't really understand her.

She prides herself on _not_ getting sick when they make the return journey. And she's barely stepped off the lorry before Sister Agatha is shouting orders at her. Ah, it's good to be back.

Tom Bellasis is the first face she sees upon reentering the hospital tent, and she can't deny, a sense of relief washes over her at the sight of him.

"Sybil!" he gasps, and then coughs and corrects himself. "Nurse Crawley."

She smiles and greets in return, "Capt. Bellasis."

He grins. "How was your Christmas?"

She knows the details of her holiday aren't the real reason to why he asked that question, and so gives him the answer she believes he's been longing to hear. "I did pay a visit like you asked. Your parents are in fine form, and Imogen is engaged!"

His eyes widen in shock. "What!? To who?"

"Lord Calhoun," Sybil answers, and does her best to bite back her laugh at the face her friend makes.

"But he's ANCIENT!?"

"He's only fifty—"

"And Imogen is barely twenty!"

"She's twenty-one now, and from what I could see—"

"Wait," he stops her. "You _met_ him? He was _there!?"_

Sybil nods. "Yes, and your sister seemed quite happy, if I do say so myself."

He looks back at her, still surprised by this recent bit of news and just shakes his head, before mumbling, "Well, one of us should be, I suppose."

Sybil's brow furrows at his words, but she's quickly distracted when she spies a nurse taking a crate full of supplies to the ambulance, and she immediately volunteers to carry them there for her, ignoring the questioning looks she can feel from both the nurse and Capt. Bellasis.

She's seen one Tom upon her return. And…she cannot deny, she is rather eager to see the other.

During her journey back, Sybil has been playing this reunion over and over in her mind: what she'll say to him, if she'll dare "flirt back" with him, and so on. As the ambulance comes into view, she starts to wonder about how he'll react at seeing her. Will he be happy? Will he joke and tease? Will he—

"I can't do this—I have to get out of here!"

"Calm down."

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE!"

She freezes at the sound of the voices (both with Irish accents), and presses her back against one side of the ambulance, not wanting to make her presence known or interrupt their "conversation".

"I know that they'll shoot you for desertion!" a voice hisses. _Branson's voice._

The other Irishman is unfamiliar to her, and Sybil feels her heart breaking at the sound of his tears.

Branson's voice softens…and though she can't see him, she imagines him putting his hands on the shoulders of his companion in a gesture that's meant to be comforting. "Hey…we'll get through this…_we will_…just…" he sighs. "Just promise me, you're not going to do anything stupid!"

She can't understand the words that the other man mutters, but she does hear his footsteps, and so she quickly moves away from the ambulance in an attempt to not look like she's been there this whole time, eavesdropping on another man's conversation—

"Hey."

She gasps, and looks over her shoulder…and her eyes catch those of the man she was coming to see.

He's smiling at her…and she can't deny, her stomach does a little somersault.

"You're back."

She swallows and nods her head, wondering how red her face has become. "I…these are for you," she thrusts the crate towards him and he quickly takes it.

Their fingers brush, just for a moment. But it feels like an electric shock.

"Did you have a pleasant Christmas?" Lord, her voice sounds like a squeak.

His smile is strained. "As pleasant as it could be in a place like this," he mutters, but shakes his head and tries to sound lighter. "And you? Did you 'dance the night away' with the chauffeur?"

It's rather comical, imagining herself dancing with poor old Taylor. "No, there was no ball. Besides, he wouldn't have danced with me anyway."

He puts on a mocked expression. "Do you mean to tell me that _Lady Sybil_ has two left feet?"

She gasps, and then actually reaches out to swat him, causing him to throw his head back and laugh.

"That's _Nurse Crawley_ to you! And I happen to dance very well, I bet I could dance circles around you!"

He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Is that a challenge?"

Oh hell.

"I'll have you know I was 'a favorite' at the various church dances."

Lord, he is frightfully full of himself. "Can we pretend I didn't just say that?" she groans.

"Nah, you're not getting away that easy, _milady_," he teases. "Come on, 'dance circles around me', or better yet," he offers her his hand. "Prove to me that you don't have two left feet."

Oh God…did he just…? Oh it would serve him right if she did just stomp on his feet, but…the thought of taking his hand, and being pulled closer to him, while his other hand wraps around her waist…

Her heart is suddenly racing.

"NURSE CRAWLEY!" Sister Agatha's voice booms, causing Sybil to jump. "Stop flirting with Branson! You have patients to see to!"

Oh why can't the earth swallow her up? She doesn't even dare to look at him; she just turns on her heel to return to the hospital—

"Nurse Crawley…"

Despite her better judgment, she does pause…and she does look over her shoulder back at him.

His smile is kind, and there's no trace of teasing. "It's good to have you back."

_To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8

_Glad you all loved the flirty sweetness in the last few chapters, but prepare yourselves as angst is coming up! I'm sad to say that there isn't any Tom Branson in this chapter :o( but if you are a fan of the Thomas/Sybil relationship, I hope you will enjoy this! Again, as always, thank you for the feedback and continued support as I make my way through this 30 day challenge! _

_**Prompt:** "This one's on me."_

* * *

In the spring of 1916, Sybil was transferred to the Downton Cottage Hospital, much to the approval of her family, and thanks, in large part, to the meddling of her grandmother.

Though it had begun with a rocky start, she quite liked working at the hospital in York and was sad to leave both it, and the friends she had made there. But Dr. Clarkson (or Major Clarkson as he was now known) was very happy to have her on staff, and thanks to her extensive training in York, knew he could trust her with handling some of the more "delicate cases" the hospital saw.

For example, dear William Mason, a former footman from Downton, had come back from France, come back to die in peace, surrounded by his friends and family. Sybil became his personal nurse, and though it was tearing her apart inside, she put on a stoic face and a "stiff upper lip", and did everything she could to make sure dear William's remaining days were comfortable ones.

He died in his sleep, on a Thursday morning.

After his body was taken, she went to her room and locked the door. To this day she still doesn't know how she found the strength to emerge and return to her duties.

It's a Thursday morning when she's summoned by Sister Agatha. "There's an officer—Lt. Courtney—his eyes have suffered greatly from the gas, and I doubt he'll ever see again. I understand you have experience dealing with matters like this—calming patients who have suffered great trauma. While he needs to go to a proper hospital and then a proper place to convalesce, God knows when that will be!"

It's true; so many of the "proper hospitals" have been turned into mountains of rubble, and it's getting more and more dangerous for transports to be made across the Channel due to German submarines. They'll have to do their best with helping men like Lt. Courtney at their field hospital.

Sybil simply nods her head and follows Sister Agatha to the place where a very fitful young man is thrashing about on his cot, his hands covering his eyes, groaning about the pain and how they burn, while Cpl. Barrow is trying to apply clean bandages.

"Nurse Crawley will help you," Sister Agatha announces to Cpl. Barrow, who simply replies with a grunt, not even bothering to look at either women.

Sybil rolls her up her sleeves and goes to Lt. Courtney's other side, her hands going to the man's shoulders and trying to hold him still. "Lieutenant, you need to calm yourself and sit still, we're trying to help—"

"WHY CAN'T I SEE!?" the man hysterically asks her, and Sybil gasps as he grabs hold of her sleeve, pulling her closer until she's only a few inches away from his face…and that's when he finally lowers his hands…and she sees the damage.

The irises of his eyes look like two pale orbs, and the pupils are an ugly, bloody red. There's significant bruising around his eyes, making them look like they've sunken into his skull, and even though he's sobbing, there are no tears that fall because his tear-ducts have been burned dry.

"God it hurts—IT HURTS!"

Sybil glances at Cpl. Barrow who gives her an exasperated but expectant look. _Do something!_

Her jaw tightens and she digs deep into herself to find the strength needed for her patient. "I know it hurts, Lieutenant, and we are going to do everything we can to STOP that pain, but you MUST calm down in order for us to do that!"

He still thrashes and holds tightly to her arm. "Tell me…please," he begs, his damaged eyes searching hers if they could see. "Am I…am I blind?"

She shouldn't give the man false hope, but it's heartbreaking to not provide him with anything. Which is crueler?

"We don't know," Cpl. Barrow answers for her, surprising Sybil by his words. Cpl. Barrow isn't exactly known for "kindness and sympathy", but when she looks at him like she is now…and sees the way he's looking down at Lt. Courtney…and sees the silent agony on the medic's face, she realizes that whoever Lt. Courtney is, he is someone of great importance to Cpl. Barrow.

Lt. Courtney turns his head towards Cpl. Barrow then, and both men seem to be choking back on a sob. "Don't lie to me; please…not you, Thomas."

There's a moment of calmness in their shared sorrow, and Sybil decides to act quickly before Lt. Courtney's panic returns. She takes the salve that they use for men in his situation, and gives Cpl. Barrow a look that tells the medic to hold the patient down, as the salve "burns like hell", so she's been told by the men who have experienced it, and as soon as her companion has a firm grip on the other man's shoulders, moves quickly to complete the task.

It is not without difficulty.

Lt. Courtney howls in pain and thrashes every which way, but Cpl. Barrow keeps a steady hand on him, muttering in the man's ear, "it will help, I swear it will help!"

Sister Agatha returns with a vial of morphine, and Sybil has never been happier to see it. Within a few minutes after the medicine has been administered, Lt. Courtney finally calms to the point where his lids close over his damaged eyes, giving her and Cpl. Barrow the chance to apply fresh bandages.

"Good work," Sister Agatha murmurs to the both of them. "Now see to your next patients."

Truly, it never ends.

Later that evening, as she sits down to eat her supper, she's surprised by Cpl. Barrow's approach, and even more so by the flask he discreetly passes to her.

"This one's on me," he murmurs low, making sure no one else has noticed. He turns back to her and for perhaps the first time since she's known him…offers her a genuine smile. "Good work today, Nurse Crawley."

She blushes, but returns his smile, and accepts his offering, doing her best to be discreet as she sips. "You as well, Cpl. Barrow."

He chuckles, before taking a cigarette and putting it between his lips. "Thomas," he introduces, before offering her one.

She declines, but takes another sip from the flask. "Sybil," she answers.

War brings destruction and tragedy. But it also has the amazing ability to bring people closer...

_To be continued..._


	9. Chapter 9

_So each chapter starts with a little bit of a "flashback" to Sybil's life before she came to France to serve; I mention this just in case there's any confusion. We'll always begin with a mention of the past, before starting the chapter proper in the present. Anyway, THANK YOU for your comments; glad to know so many enjoyed the "bromance" between Sybil and Thomas-more to come! But I do promise more Tom Branson in this chapter too ;o) though this is, in some ways, the "calm" before the storm. Again, thank you for reading!_

_**Prompt:** "You forgot to say the magic word."_

* * *

When William had returned to Yorkshire, her grandmother insisted that the former footman come to Downton for his final days. Dr. Clarkson had been against the idea, thinking it would serve William better to stay at the hospital, but Granny was adamant. _"You honestly think the hospital beds are more comfortable than the beds at Downton?"_ she questioned in her haughty way. Sybil had dared to suggest that William might wish to go home, to which her grandmother replied, _"Downton is home!"_ It was yet another reminder to how narrow her family's view of the world was.

Still, William was given the finest guest room, and his father was invited to stay and was treated like royalty during that time. As for Sybil, she found herself in the odd position of "home nurse", something that was altogether new to her, and since there would be no other nurses present to help if help were needed, she found herself reaching out to her sister Edith, who showed a great interest in being "useful".

Edith took on some of the "softer" tasks of nursing, but tasks that were every bit as important, such as staying up late and reading to William, or serving him tea and feeding him broth. Sybil would always be grateful for her sister's help, and perhaps that was how she had managed to find the strength to leave her room after poor William had died? Edith, who had worked beside her in his care not only understood her sorrow, but shared in it! Yes, there is little doubt in Sybil's mind that Edith was a tremendous help in bringing her back to the world after the struggle and loss of dear William.

She's reminded of her sister through the help of Cpl. Barrow, who works closely with her in seeing to Lt. Courtney's care.

He wasn't asked to help, nor was he assigned. He simply…does, and without explaining, Sybil knows it is because the two men share some sort of bond. Cpl. Barrow is there in the hospital before she arrives, and lingers afterwards when she leaves. If there are other patients to whom he needs to see, he will go, do his duty to them, and then come back. The man is a tremendous help to Lt. Courtney, especially at keeping the officer calm while he adjusts to his sightless world. And Lt. Courtney has also brought both Sybil and Cpl. Barrow (Thomas) closer as well. They share many of their meals together, and he's always sneaking her a drink from his flask, as well as offering her cigarettes (though with those, she continues to turn him down).

Some of the other nurses whisper that she and Thomas are more than just "working partners", to which Sybil just rolls her eyes. While yes, she has spent a great deal of time in Thomas' company, not once has she ever felt the man gaze upon her in a lecherous sort of way like Lt. Grey, or even go so far as to flirt with her the way Branson has done.

"What's going on there?" Thomas asks her one afternoon, as they step away from the hospital for a cup of tea while Lt. Courtney (whose name is Edward, Sybil has learned) sleeps.

"…Going on?" she repeats, confused by his question.

He nods and lights a cigarette. "You and Branson," he clarifies.

She turns her head quickly to sip her tea, but it's too late; he's seen her face and her blush gives everything away. "He and I are friends," she mumbles into her teacup, before forcing her eyes to look back at his. "Just as you and I are friends."

For some reason it feels like a weak argument. However, it is the truth; Tom Branson is her friend and _just_ her friend.

Thomas is clearly amused and can't stop laughing as he looks at her. "Right; _just_ like us."

Her face burns. She turns away again and sips her tea, trying to ignore her friend's chuckles or the strange fluttering in her chest as she recalls the previous night, during supper, when Branson offered a flask of his own to her and Thomas.

"_Ever taste Irish whiskey, Nurse Crawley?"_

_Thomas started laughing before she could respond. "She never tasted liqueur of any kind that wasn't 'red or white', until recently—ow."_

_Thomas continued to laugh even after she swatted his arm, and with her chin lifted, she reached for Branson's flask, fully prepared to take a good, long drink of the liquid inside—_

"_Hey," Branson chuckled, dodging her reach. "You forgot to say the magic word."_

_She rolled her eyes, and then swiped the flask from his grasp, before saying in an overly posh tone, "Really, Branson, I thought I gave the orders?"_

_Thomas laughed, but he laughed even harder when she started to cough after tasting the fiery liquid for the first time._

"_Easy," Branson murmured, his voice amused, but his eyes tender…as was his touch, while he gently patted her back during her coughs. _

No. Her friendship with Tom Branson is _not_ like her friendship with Thomas.

…But that doesn't mean she's going to admit it. At least not to anyone other than herself.

"It's strange," Thomas murmurs, breaking through her thoughts.

She glances at him, unsure what he's talking about. "What's strange?"

His brow is furrowed, as if he's trying to make sense of something. "He's strong, able-bodied; not too old, not too young…" he exhales a cloud of smoke. "Why isn't he fighting?"

Sybil blinks for a moment. "You mean…Branson?"

Thomas simply nods. "Even though I joined the medical corps, I still had to go through basic training; not once have I ever seen him pick up a rifle. He just drives that ambulance…"

Sybil makes a face at his words. "He doesn't 'just drive' that ambulance, _he saves lives!"_

Thomas looks at her and a cheeky grin spreads across his face. "Look at you, getting all defensive."

She groans and rises, trying her best to ignore Thomas' laughter as she walks away, "Yep! That's right, '_just_ like us'!"

_To be continued..._


	10. Chapter 10

_I decided to introduce someone we all would love to loathe in this chapter. Thank you again for your feedback and continued readership! It is very much appreciated. _

_**Prompt:** "If there's one thing the world needs more of…"_

* * *

_February 1917_

Back at Downton, it was a well-known fact that William Mason was in love with the kitchen maid, Daisy. Apparently, before leaving for France, William had proposed marriage and Daisy had accepted. When news of William's injury and imminent death reached the ears of the staff, Daisy stepped forward and sought permission by Mrs. Patmore, Carson, and the Earl of Grantham himself, if she and William could be married while there was still time.

Just as she had done with getting William to Downton, so too did the Dowager Countess champion this cause, going to Mr. Travis and pleading William's case until the vicar finally agreed to perform the marriage.

Sybil was a witness to that wedding. She stood next to Edith, and watched as Daisy stood by William's side, holding his hand while the vows were read, offering her hand for the presentation of the ring, and then finally bending her head to brush her lips to his, sealing their marriage with a loving kiss.

To Sybil, it was the saddest and most beautiful thing she had ever witnessed. Sometimes, her mind wanders to William and Daisy, wanders and imagines what might have been had dear William survived. You would think "love" and "romance" would be the last things a person would contemplate during such hard times, when death and tragedy surround you no matter which way you look.

…And yet perhaps for that very reason such thoughts cloud her mind?

Sybil is proud of the work she and Thomas have done with Lt. Courtney. The man still needs to be transferred to a proper convalescent home, but the field hospital has gone above and beyond in seeing to his care and helping him deal with his injuries. Despite Thomas' hopeful words, there is no denying that poor Lt. Courtney—Edward, is blind. And while this did indeed upset the young officer, both Thomas and Sybil have done their best in helping him accept this new reality, as well as simply being present to provide comfort when it is needed.

"I think we should help him learn how to walk with a cane," Sybil announces one morning, while she and Thomas are eating breakfast. "He needs to be active; doing something! I think that will help him and offer him hope!"

Thomas looks a bit more skeptic. "That's the sort of thing done at a convalescent home, not here."

Sybil rolls her eyes. "Yes, I know that, but who knows when the transfer will be? He's been in the field hospital for nearly a month! We need to do something, and not just for Lt. Courtney, but other officers like him!"

Thomas still looks unsure, but Sybil is feeling more and more determined. "I am positive Sister Agatha will agree."

Thomas grunts as he finishes his coffee. "It's not her you'd have to convince but Maj. Tapsell; he has final say on all medical matters."

Sybil groans and makes a face at this. Lord help her, she cannot abide Maj. Tapsell. Maj. Tapsell is as coldblooded as a snake; the man shows no sympathy, no warmth, and he always looks down his nose at the nurses.

However, Maj. Tapsell spends far more time with the Generals, trying to stay on their good graces, than overseeing the field hospital. Perhaps what he doesn't know can't harm them?

She seeks out Branson's help, thinking that the ambulance may have a cane they could use. "Sorry, there isn't," he tells her. But she doesn't even have the chance to look disappointed by this news, before he straightens up and says, "I'll make you one."

Her eyes widen. "W-what?" she stammers.

He grins and nods. "I'll make you one. I'll take a branch from the firewood supply, smooth it down with my pocket knife…I'll start on it tonight, if you'd like?"

She stares at him…and the urge to throw her arms around him and embrace him for his offer is almost too much.

But somehow she manages to control herself.

"Thank you…" she finally murmurs, when she's fairly certain she has control over her emotions.

He smiles, but there's something in his eyes, something…she isn't sure what, but it does make her blush, as well as holds her captive.

"It's nothing," he finally says, looking down at the rag he's holding his hands.

Sybil shakes her head. "No, Tom, you doing this is _not_ nothing, it is the very opposite of nothing!"

A soft chuckle fills the air between them and he looks back at her in that soft, tender way that causes her heart to melt and her toes to curl. "I think that's the first time I've heard you say my name," he grins. "And besides," he carries on before she has the chance to react to his words. "I'm just 'smoothing a stick', you and Cpl. Barrow are doing all the hard work."

She remembers how not so long ago Thomas had "made light" of what Branson did, referring to him as "just driving the ambulance". "You're doing more than just 'smoothing a stick'," she insists. "You are literally providing him with a tool that will not only help him learn how to move about in the world without his sight, but, I am convinced, provide him with…hope, to carry on!"

Gracious, he does have a lovely smile.

"Hope…" he murmurs. He says the word both reverently and wistfully. "If there's one thing the world needs more of…"

His voice trails off and his expression becomes troubled. Sybil turns and looks over her shoulder and sees Thomas approaching, looking agitated and upset. She rushes to his side and grips his arm. "Thomas, what is it? What's wrong?"

He's positively seething. She's never seen him look this upset. "Damn Maj. Tapsell," he hatefully spits the name. "He says we're overrun; he's ordering all patients who are not 'of the utmost importance' to be removed to…I don't know, he didn't say, to just have them 'removed'."

Sybil's eyes widen in shock. "When!?"

Thomas grits his teeth once more. "Now."

_To be continued..._


	11. Chapter 11

_Thanks for your comments and continuing to read! If you like ggggrrrTOUGH!Sybil, you'll love her here :o) _

_**Prompt:** "I think you missed your calling."_

* * *

When Sybil was transferred to the hospital in Downton, she was pleasantly surprised to find her cousin Isobel actively working amongst the patients. Isobel was a great inspiration to Sybil, and it was Isobel to whom Sybil often went when she had questions in regards to nursing, or before that, politics. While the rest of her family shied away from such topics, Isobel seemed to welcome and embrace Sybil's questions, not only offering her helpful advice, but also providing her a deeper understanding, as well as challenging her to try and see something from opposing perspectives.

She would never forget coming into the hospital one morning and finding Cousin Isobel, standing toe to toe with Dr. Clarkson, arguing that he was "out of touch", and that he needed to stop being a doctor and start "thinking like a nurse" for a change, and actually put himself into the shoes of his patients. Sybil later learned that the argument was spawned when Isobel discovered that several recovering soldiers, who had built a trust with the staff at the hospital, and had found peace and comfort there after having experienced every kind of hell imaginable, were now being plucked up and taken to who knows where, because there wasn't a "proper" convalescent home in the area.

Dr. Clarkson argued that they had no more space, that room must be made for men who were urgent need of care. Like Isobel, Sybil understood this argument, however, as Isobel emphasized, the damage done to these men was so much more than "what could visibly be seen".

Sybil remembers her cousin especially now, as she finds herself going toe to toe with Maj. Tapsell.

"I understand the importance for having space for the newly wounded, but you cannot just 'pluck them up' and send them elsewhere without any sort of warning!" she practically shouts at Maj. Tapsell.

Sister Agatha is standing close by and her face pales at first, before darkening to a deep shade of red, and she hisses at Sybil to no doubt stop her, but Sybil ignores her.

Sadly, so does Maj. Tapsell.

"Are the trucks ready?" the major asks some passing officer, giving various fleeting glances to the men who will be moved, including Lt. Courtney, who looks confused and is turning his head in every direction, as if by doing so, his sight will somehow come back.

"What's going on?" Lt. Courtney (Edward) asks. "Nurse Crawley?"

Sybil reaches out and grasps Lt. Courtney's hand, giving it a squeeze which she hopes will provide the man with some sense of steadiness while the world is being ripped out from under his feet.

"Major, I implore you—"

"Nurse Crawley!" Sister Agatha hisses again.

"—You cannot move these men!"

Maj. Tapsell finally glances at her, but the look he gives is the sort of look a person would give if they found an insect crawling up their arm. "Nurse, if I were you, I'd use this time to prepare your patients for transfer." He dismisses her after that, continuing to move forward.

"Transfer?" Lt. Courtney sits up more. "No…" he starts shaking his head. "No…I…I want…I want to stay here, I…please…" his hands are searching, waving in the air, looking for something. "Thomas?" he calls out. "Where…Nurse Crawley, where's Thomas? What did he mean, 'transfer'? Am I...?" he starts to shake his head again and he's becoming rather hysterical. "No! I…no, I'm not going! Thomas!"

Sybil's heart breaks as she listens to Edward's panicked and anguished cries, and even though it means she must let go of his hand, she will do so in an effort to do battle for him and all the other men in her care.

"Major!" she cries, running after him. "Maj. Tapsell I DEMAND that you listen to me!"

The major does stop then…and slowly turns around, looking back at her with great indignation. "I beg your pardon?"

Sybil squares her shoulders. "Hear me out—"

"Do you know who I am!?" he growls.

_A bully and a snob._ "If you are decent man, you will listen to what I have to say and consider the consequences of your proposal!"

Maj. Tapsell sputters. "A _decent_ man!?" He turns and glares at Sister Agatha, who looks rather torn between duty to her superiors, and pride in Sybil's boldness. "Take control and discipline your nurse! And then get these men ready for transfer! THAT'S AN ORDER!"

Sister Agatha grasps Sybil by the arm and hauls her aside. "Don't make it worse!" she hisses into Sybil's ear as she struggles against the woman's hold.

"You know this is wrong!" Sybil hisses back.

"Calling him names won't help your cause," Sister Agatha mutters. "Come on; Lt. Courtney needs you right now—use this time to prepare him!"

Sybil wants to argue, but at the mention of her patient, she finds herself torn between going back to him and doing just as Sister Agatha instructed, or "making things worse" by shouting words at Maj. Tapsell's deaf ears.

How can sense and reason be explained to men who refuse to listen?

"WHERE ARE MY DRIVERS?" Maj. Tapsell demands.

Sybil looks to where the man is shouting and sees Branson approaching him. She holds her breath as he speaks. "Major, I drive the ambulance, but the location which you want the men to go—it's too dangerous to take the journey now. A dispatch arrived just a few minutes ago saying that enemy forces learned and it would be like taking the men to slaughter."

Maj. Tapsell frowns. "Dispatch? WHAT DISPATCH? I never heard—"

"We'll move the men tomorrow; but right now it's just too much of a risk," he concludes, and Sybil gasps as he meets her eyes, and…winks at her.

He made that up. But she looks away, not wanting her surprised face to reveal otherwise.

Maj. Tapsell is sputtering with outrage, and Branson walks briskly away, passing Sybil as he goes. "That should hopefully buy you some time," he mutters under his breath.

Despite herself, Sybil can't help but giggle. "I think you missed your calling."

She hears him chuckle.

_To be continued..._


	12. Chapter 12

_Continued thanks for reading and following! Though I am sorry for this chapter. Trigger warning: suicide._

_**Prompt:** "Could you repeat that?"_

* * *

Last summer, at the end of a long, late shift from the hospital, Sybil would sometimes choose to walk back to Downton than call for Taylor to come and drive her. Her mother would be horrified if she knew the truth, and Sybil herself was often surprised that despite the ache in her feet, she had the strength for the walk. But the truth was that she cherished these quiet moments between herself and the stars…

Just like those late night summer walks, it's quite late by the time she returns to the nurse's station. Her body is tired and her spirit is worn. She and Thomas have spent the last few hours trying to calm poor Edward, who at one point became so hysterical they had to give him a sedative.

He doesn't understand why he has to go. He's not alone; there are other patients who share the same sentiments.

It doesn't matter how "logical" it may sound ("the cots need to be given to men who are newly injured"). What Edward and men like him hear is that they can't stay, that there's no place for them. And for men who already feel so lost and out of place because of their injuries, it brings back the question that so many of them have been afraid to answer: _what happens now?_

She's thankful to Branson for the help he provided, his attempt to buy her some time to try and find an alternative solution to Maj. Tapsell's order. However, so much of her time has been used to calm Lt. Courtney and the other men, that she hasn't had the chance to truly contemplate what can be done. And really…what can be done? The men _will_ need to be moved, as much as it pains her to admit, the field hospital just doesn't have the capabilities to _also_ serve as a convalescent home. But there must be a better way than what Maj. Tapsell has in mind…

"Sybil!"

She turns and smiles at the sight of Matthew; heaven knows how welcoming it is to see a friendly face right now.

"Mother wrote," he tells her, holding up a piece of paper. She smiles at this too, and suddenly feels her heart swell with longing to be sitting across from Isobel again.

"How is she?" she asks, finding comfort in this opportunity to forget about what's happening around them.

"She's well, but you won't believe this," he chuckles, glancing down at the letter again. "I'm really surprised myself, I honestly have no idea how she managed to pull this off, especially when you consider how Cousin Violet must have reacted—"

"What? Matthew, what are you talking about?"

He blushes, seeming to realize he hasn't given her the whole story. "Downton has been turned into a convalescent home."

Sybil's eyes go wide. "Could you repeat that?" which causes Matthew to throw his head back and laugh, before actually handing her the letter.

There it is…plain as day. Cousin Isobel has found a solution to the problem Sybil witnessed her arguing with Dr. Clarkson this past summer. Downton Abbey has become a convalescent home for recovering officers.

…And here is her solution.

"Oh Matthew!" she gasps, looking up at him and smiling widely, before surprising him by throwing her arms around his body and hugging him fiercely. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Poor Matthew isn't quite sure how to respond, but he does return the embrace, before pulling away and murmuring, "I wonder how Cousin Mary is handling the change? No doubt some officer will come in and sweep her off her feet…"

Perhaps under different circumstances she would give pause to "sympathize" with Matthew's longing heart, but she's far too eager to write to Isobel and ask that she open Downton's doors to the men here, men like Lt. Courtney who are afraid and unsure of what will happen next.

Her letter is long, and quite detailed, but Sybil feels it's worth it. She wants Isobel to know everything about Edward's ordeal, as well as his recovery, what has helped, what hasn't, and what Sybil believes will help, and then starts to talk about her hopes of helping him learn to walk with a cane. The oil in her lamp is nearly gone by the time she finally finishes her letter, and though it's tempting—so very tempting—to go back to the hospital tent and tell Edward everything, she knows it would be best to let him sleep, as well as get some sleep herself. But first thing in the morning she'll go; despite this late hour, she will rise early, seek out Thomas, and they will both give Edward the news. Of course there's still Maj. Tapsell to deal with, but the man strikes Sybil as someone who would be "dazzled" by the idea of being "indebted" to the Earl of Grantham, if he allows this. But again, that is something she will work on in the morning.

She doesn't rise as early as she had hoped, but as soon as she does open her eyes, she flies out of bed and dresses, before hurrying from the nurse's station to the hospital tent, clutching her newly written letter, grinning and eager and…

Thomas is at the hospital tent, crumpled on the ground outside.

He's crying.

No, not crying…he's _sobbing_.

Dread fills her. Did they move him already? She moves past Thomas, but is stopped short by Branson who blocks her way, and who looks grave. "Don't," he tells her, but Sybil ignores him, and pushes past, and…

Edward.

Sister Agatha is pulling a sheet over his pale face. His lips are blue. And the sheets are red…as are his wrists that hang limply from the bed.

No…no, he…he couldn't have, he…no, it's not supposed to happen like this, she had found a solution!

"Sybil," she hears Branson say her name, but she moves before his hand touches her shoulder, moves out of the tent and starts running, ignoring the odd looks of people she passes or those that curiously call out her name.

He is not the first patient she has lost. But she feels his loss more deeply, than any other.

_To be continued..._


	13. Chapter 13

_How are we all doing after the last chapter? While that was angsty, more angst is ahead, so get ready! But thank you again for your continued support for this story and writing exercise. It truly is appreciated!_

_**Prompt**: "Stop trying to cheer me up!"_

* * *

_March 1917_

When William died, both Isobel and Dr. Clarkson told Sybil to "get some rest", a polite way of saying "take some time to grieve". They knew how hard she had worked in seeing to his care, and no doubt were aware of the emotional drain it had been as well. Several days passed before she finally emerged from her room, but eventually, she did emerge, thanks in large part to Edith's commiseration, and Isobel's gentle reminder that "there were other men who needed her care".

There is no "gentle reminder" for Sybil here. Nor is there anyone to tell her to "get some rest". There's no such thing. Death is a frequent occurrence in war, and there's a part of her that wishes she could be as "dismissive" of Lt. Courtney's death as Maj. Tapsell is. But Maj. Tapsell has the luxury of leaving their camp whenever he likes, whereas she must remain and face each day with the reminder that if she had acted faster, if had gone that night to Edward and told him about Downton, or if she had woken earlier like she had planned, or…or she had just done a better job in caring for him…then maybe this wouldn't have happened?

Maybe Edward Courtney would still be alive?

Perhaps the grief would be easier to bear if she could speak with Thomas, but he's built a wall around himself, not only blocking her out but everyone else. He's gone back to that cold and somewhat menacing Cpl. Barrow whom she had met when she first arrived. He's made it quite plain that he doesn't want to talk about what happened, though Sybil can see the sorrow in his eyes…and has, on a few occasions, stumbled across him silently sobbing.

Sometimes she cries too, and sometimes it's for the loss of this friendship they once shared, but that died alongside poor Edward.

Well, if Thomas can build a wall, why can't she? Maybe in time and with enough luck, she can dismiss these things as easily as Maj. Tapsell.

It doesn't take long for others to notice this change in her. Sister Agatha is aware, but doesn't say anything. Neither do any of her fellow nurses. Matthew tried to offer some kind of comfort and sympathy shortly after the tragedy took place, but she simply muttered that she had duties to perform. Even Tom Bellasis who works beside her seems at a loss in how to behave or what to say. So he doesn't try, he just "pretends" as if nothing happened, or he tries to. They're all aware, but they seem to share a mutual understanding.

War is Hell. And it's better to walk through Hell feeling numb.

At meals, she eats quickly and sits by herself. Once Lt. Grey tried to sit and flirt with her (again) but the look she gave him must have truly unnerved him, because he soon found an excuse to rise and leave her in peace.

She's gotten rather good at that…unnerving people and convincing them to leave her alone.

…Except one.

For the first few weeks, Tom Branson seemed to "respect" her desire to be left alone, and he did so. But now it's getting harder.

He doesn't "force" his presence upon her, he doesn't corner her or even "seek her out", but he does look at her from afar, his gaze lingering on her back wherever she goes, and when she does catch his eye, his expression is calm but sad.

Does he pity her? He better not, because she doesn't want it!

"Nurse Crawley!" Sister Agatha commands. "Branson needs a nurse in the ambulance; go with him."

She starts to shake her head before she even speaks. "Send someone else, please—"

"Do your duty, Nurse Crawley!" the woman barks, leaving no room for argument. Sybil bites back her groan and obeys.

When she reaches the ambulance, her brow furrows in confusion when she notices he's standing by the passenger door, holding it open. "Ride next to me," he tells her.

"But I should be in the back—"

"We're not going to the trenches," he corrects her. "A supply shipment has come in and I need an extra pair of hands to help me."

She stares at him…and she can't help the accusing tone in her voice when she growls, "did you do this on purpose?"

He doesn't answer her; he just gets behind the wheel.

She should turn her back and walk away, but her legs betray her and the next thing she knows, she's sitting and sulking right next to him.

Their journey begins in silence.

Then he breaks it. "I thought you were avoiding me…"

She looks at him with narrowed eyes. "Of course not!" She doesn't care for the way one corner of his mouth lifts, as if he's amused by her. "I wasn't!"

"Whatever you say, milady."

She groans. "Stop that, and…just stop!"

"Stop?"

"Yes! Stop…doing what you're doing!"

"I'm driving—"

"You know what I mean!" she mutters. "Stop trying to cheer me up!"

He lifts his eyebrows at this. "Is that what I'm doing?"

She curses under her breath. "I don't want your pity—"

"That's good, because I'm not giving you any."

She looks at him and opens her mouth to retort back, but he beats her to it.

"I am sorry to what happened to Lt. Courtney, truly. But you need to stop blaming yourself."

Now it's her turn to lift her eyebrows. "What makes you think—"

"You're not like this, Sybil," he interrupts, making her blush at how freely he says her name.

She swallows. "Oh? And what am I like?"

He doesn't even hesitate. "Warm, caring, compassionate, brave…certainly not this 'ice queen' that you're pretending to be."

She opens her mouth…but nothing comes out.

"It's hard…but trust me, pretending not to care doesn't keep you safe," he pauses before adding, "and it won't bring him back."

She presses her brow against the window and stares at the passing countryside, hot tears stinging her eyes and staining her cheeks.

He glances at her, and murmurs, "There's no shame in crying—"

"Oh shut up," she mutters.

When he next speaks, she swears she can hear pride in his voice. "Good; keep fighting, Nurse Crawley."

_To be continued..._


	14. Chapter 14

_Things are going to start getting heavy between these two, and for those of you who have been wondering about why Tom is there in the first place, that question, along with a few others, will soon be answered. THANKS AGAIN FOR READING AND YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT!_

_**Prompt:** "I understand that you're upset."_

* * *

_April 1917_

It had taken a great deal to convince her parents to let her attend nursing school, especially when she told them that she would be gone for a great many months, studying and training because she wanted to become a "proper nurse". Why? For the very reason to which she was in France right now. Yes, she knew that nurses were needed in England to care for the returning soldiers and help them rehabilitate, but when the idea first struck her, her desire to…help and make a difference…she knew she would never be satisfied unless she was there, in the thick of it, tending and caring for those men on the front.

That was where the greatest need lay. And that was where she needed to be.

It's been a long, weary road since Lt. Courtney's death, and there are still days when she struggles to hold back the tears, as well as the self-blame, but she pushes past it, she keeps fighting…just like Branson encouraged.

Things have changed between them, at least a little bit.

Before, much of their conversations were "light" and "amusing", a chance to "escape" from the horrors around them. But ever since Lt. Courtney's death, Sybil has also come to realize that sometimes it is best _not_ to escape such things, but to meet them on the battlefield.

Questions she may have shied away from in the past do not go so gently.

"Why don't you fight?" she finds herself asking randomly one afternoon while he's working. It's clear by the way he practically bumps his head on the bonnet of the ambulance that she's surprised him with her question.

"What?" he asks, putting his tools down and looking at her strangely.

She may have backed down in the past, but she won't now. Curiosity is her sword. "Thomas once mentioned—"

"You were _gossiping_ about me?"

She pushes on. "Thomas said that even though he enlisted for the medical corps, he _still_ had to go through basic training, but…well, did you?"

He folds his arms across his chest. "Did I what?"

Is he purposefully being thick? "Go through basic training?"

He studies her face for a moment. "Why do you ask?"

She's a bit surprised by his answer, which in truth is just another question. He seems…wary.

"…Well, it's just…" she's annoyed that she can feel her cheeks growing warm. "You are strong, and…" her cheeks grow hotter as her eyes glance at his forearms, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "…And able-bodied, so it just seems…surprising…that you're not fighting—"

"Because I don't want to."

His answer surprises her. Of all the answers he had to give, that was not what she was expecting.

He shrugs his shoulders and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "It's not my fight," he adds.

She frowns. "But…wait, what do you mean—?"

"I mean I refuse to fight for a king and a country that isn't my own, or at the very least, I refuse to fight for one that denies basic rights, freedom, and justice, to a land and a people that deserve them, but has no qualms in sending her sons to die on their behalf."

His tone is harsh, and she can tell that this is something he feels very passionate about.

Ireland; the "her" being Ireland. He's a Republican.

"…So…so you're against the War?"

He sighs and looks deeply into her eyes. "What is this war about? Why is England even involved?"

She's rather thrown by his question. "Because…because England is allies with Belgium, and the Germans declared war—"

"And so England 'retaliates' by declaring war on Germany, but for what purpose? _What_ are we fighting for?"

She honestly can't answer that, because…she honestly doesn't know.

He shakes his head and turns back towards the ambulance. "This is a pointless war being waged between old men who sit in comfortable chairs and sleep in comfortable beds, while boys sleep in the mud and every kind of filth imaginable, losing their minds, limbs, and lives for what…_WHAT!?"_

Sybil bites her lip, noticing that passersby are looking at them.

"Meanwhile, Irish lads are being recruited and 'forced' to volunteer to fight for a country that refuses to listen to their desire for freedom, rounding them up like cattle for slaughter, terrorizing the streets—"

"Tom!"

He stops at the sound of his name. There's a pleading look in her eyes.

"Please…I understand that you're upset, and…and I know that we weren't at our best in Ireland—"

"Not at your best?"

In the time she's known him, she's never heard him speak in such a cold tone.

"You've lived all your life in a posh house, in the peace and quiet of the Yorkshire countryside. You've never known a day when you had to worry about soldiers stopping you, demanding to know what your business is, where you're going, holding you at gunpoint because they think you might be 'a rebel'…you've never had to live through something like the Easter Rising…" He shakes his head. "No, you _don't_ understand…and don't say you were 'not at your best'."

He turns his back on her, the conversation clearly finished as far as he's concerned. And every part of her is telling her to go too, to just walk away.

But she doesn't.

"Alright…" she murmurs after a while. "I understand why you don't fight…but then _why_ are you here?"

"Why are _you_ here!?" he rounds on her.

She's taken aback. "I…" she stiffens. "To help and care for the soldiers—"

"Exactly," he mutters, closing the bonnet. "I may not agree with this war or support it in any way, but I will do what I can to help those lads." He turns back and looks at her, his gaze hard. "I don't believe in 'types', I never have. I believe in people."

She looks down. "Except 'posh, English aristocrats' like me."

She winces. She knows the words were spoken out of a sense of self-pity. She shakes her head, wraps her arms around herself and starts to walk away.

But his hand touches her shoulder, and when she looks up at him, his hard gaze has softened a little.

"_You_, Lady Sybil, are the very definition of what I believe."

_To be continued..._


	15. Chapter 15

_Look out for angst! Granted, we've experienced some already, but more's on the way, starting here. Thank you again for reading! I truly do appreciate all the comments and I'm glad you're enjoying this daily fic :o) it is fun to write and ooohhh boy, I can't wait to read your reactions to the later chapters ;oP but until then...ANGST!_

_**Prompt:** "Tell me this is a nightmare."_

* * *

_May 1917_

Sybil remembers going to London as a child, going and visiting her aunt in Eaton Square, shopping on Oxford Street and strolling through the park at the designated "fashionable" times. But it was during one of those strolls that she was first exposed to "those damned suffragettes", as she remembers her Cousin James referring to them once. He called them a nuisance, but Sybil didn't quite understand why. From what she could tell, all they were doing was demanding a chance for their voices to be heard when it came to making decisions…and that just seemed…logical.

Equal rights and a voice to be heard; heard and listened to. How was that wrong?

The War has certainly taken a toll on her "hobby", as her grandmother calls it. Before the War, she was canvassing, and attending rallies with her cousin Isobel ("safe" rallies, as Isobel assured her father). She had gotten into several arguments with him about the subject, arguments where she yelled, _"I have opinions; I am interested!"_ It's been so long since she's thought about politics…but after her "conversation" (for lack of a better word) with Branson, it's all she can think about.

What is it like for him? It's clear—quite clear—he's against the War, and yet…he's here.

He's not fighting, true, but…still, to be here? To risk your life for a country you despise? Alright, perhaps that's a bit harsh, but…he is putting his life at risk for Englishmen. Of course, he did say that he "believes in people", not "types", and whether the soldiers are English or Irish, she has a feeling he would help where help was needed. Wasn't that what she witnessed, that first time she went with him in the ambulance? He would never leave a man behind, and every passenger he transported he would do his best to learn their name, learn _something_ about them.

"…_It's not all about freedom for Ireland, but the gap between the aristocracy and the poor,"_ he told her one night, when she surprised him by sitting across from him in the dining hall, and asking him point blank what he did before the War.

"_I was chauffeur, actually."_

"_Oh!" Memories of that conversation they had had before Christmas came back; memories when he had asked her if she would have danced with him if he were a servant at Downton's Servant's Ball._

_He chuckled, perhaps reading her mind, but didn't say anything further._

"_I just…I thought perhaps you were involved in politics."_

_He seemed amused by her assumption, but still didn't add to it._

"_I mean…have you ever thought about it? Going into politics? Because I think it's a fine ambition."_

_He sighed. "Ambition or dream?"_

"_Oh, ambition, definitely!"_

_He looked at her, and Sybil felt her cheeks darken. "And you? Are you quite political?" _

That was when she started to tell him about her involvement with The Cause, about her canvassing work, and the rallies she attended, and her frustrations with the Prime Minister, and so forth. And he listened, but never once did he give her a look that could be interpreted as "condescending". And much to her surprise (but later, she realized to her enjoyment) they even found themselves debating! He didn't agree with the suffragettes that decided to put their politics aside because the War. He thought they should follow Sylvia Pankhurst who was all for fighting on.

The debate got so heated that at one point, she rose from where she was sitting, ready to storm off.

"_Oh don't badger me, please—"_

"_I'm not!" he insisted, and then reached out…and caused her to freeze where she stood when his hand fell to her hip._

"_Sometimes a hard sacrifice must be made for a future that's worth having…that's all I'm saying."_

_She looked down at his hand, her breathing having quickened at his touch. She remembered that time she handed him a crate of supplies, and their fingers briefly touched, and just like now, she could feel a current of electricity flowing between them._

A hard sacrifice for a future that's worth having…

Is that why he's here? These lads, so many of who are poor farm hands, have come because they believe that somehow, the sacrifice they make will lead to a "future worth having". Maybe in his own way, by helping them and driving that ambulance, Tom Branson will make a future worth having by bridging that gap he had spoken of?

The honk of a car breaks her from her thoughts, and she quickly steps out of the way, her eyes widening as she notices several high ranking officers being sped forward to the General's tent. Good heavens, something important must be happening. Has there been some sort of dispatch? Is the enemy moving away? Or closer? Should they be worried?

"It's none of that," Matthew later assures her, after she corners him upon seeing him exit the General's tent.

"So what is it? What's happened?" He looks…upset. Something's wrong.

Matthew sighs…and rakes a hand through his hair. "Apparently…three soldiers tried to flee."

Her eyes widen. "Flee?"

He nods. "They were not men under my watch, but…" he sighs and looks down. He's biting his lip, as if trying to hold back his anger.

It occurs to her then that he's speaking of these men in the past-tense.

_Tried to flee. _

Deserted. They were caught in the midst of "deserting".

"Matthew…" she swallows and looks up at him. "Surely…surely they weren't…?"

But his eyes tell her everything. _Shot for cowardice._

She feels sick. "Who were they?"

He sighs. "I…I really can't say—"

"Was one of them Irish!?" she demands, because she remembers a frightened Irishman, telling Tom that he "had to get out of there", all those months ago.

"Sybil—"

"Please, Matthew, I _need_ to know!"

"Yes!" he practically shouts, before turning away and muttering a curse under his breath. He takes several deep breaths…before repeating again, "yes."

She picks up her skirt and runs, runs to where the ambulance is kept and where his tent resides, because if he's going to learn this news, she'd rather have him learn it from her than some officer—

But he already knows. Because when she finds him, he's hunched over, leaning against the ambulance, and vomiting on the ground. He looks up…and holds her gaze. "Tell me this is a nightmare…"

It's not a question. It's a plea.

_To be continued..._


	16. Chapter 16

_Need another reason not to like Larry? Here you go! Angsty action ahead..._

_For everyone wondering "who the other Irishman was?" it *will* be answered at some point, just be patient! Thanks again for reading!_

_**Prompt:** "Are you mad?"_

* * *

_June 1917_

Mrs. Patmore had a nephew who was shot for cowardice. Only a select few know about this: Mrs. Hughes, her father, and herself (and that was only because Mrs. Patmore had fainted and Sybil was summoned to help). Her heart broke for the Downton cook, and at the time she thought it sounded so…barbaric, that she just didn't want to believe it was possible, that the boy had died from other reasons, or that he'd been shot by the enemy, not by his own superiors…

How can they justify it?

When so many men die daily, how can British officers—in the 20th century!—justify shooting _their own_ men? Arrest them for their crimes if they must, but…but shoot them!? Though truly…is "fear" such a horrible crime? All people are afraid of something, even powerful generals and politicians. Even the king himself has a fear of some kind!

Why is "fear" a crime?

She wishes she could help Tom the way he helped her after Lt. Courtney's death. But he keeps to himself entirely, going so far as to take all his meals in his tent. And over the past few weeks, she hasn't had the chance to travel in the ambulance to the trenches. She's starting to wonder if he's requested that she not, knowing that she would try to speak with him.

Why was it alright for him to pursue her during her grief, but not the other way around? Of course, he didn't exactly "pursue" her, he just…waited. He was patient, and waited for the right time to present itself. And so she must be patient too.

But it's difficult.

She does find herself wondering who that other Irishman was. No one will tell her his name (either because they truly don't know, or because someone labeled a "coward" is not deemed "worthy" to have their name spoken). Whoever he was, he obviously meant something to Tom. A childhood friend? A neighbor? Oh God…a brother?

Were others aware of their connection? They must have been, because she's noticed, when he comes into the dining hall to grab something to eat before returning to his tent, the looks people give him. Some are full of pity, but most are full of judgment, as if he is guilty of the same so-called "crime" because he was somehow associated with the other Irishman.

It all comes to head though on a hot summer's night, when Lt. Grey spies him and calls out, "Branson! I was wrong about you…"

She freezes and looks to Tom, dread filling her stomach.

Lt. Grey just smirks. "You may not be a soldier," he chuckles, "but you certainly have more spine than your friend!"

Sybil's mouth falls open, and she stares angrily at Lt. Grey, her hand itching to slap that smirk from his face, but Tom beats her to it, and everyone gasps as without any warning, he turns and launches himself at Lt. Grey, his fist hitting the officer so hard, Sybil can hear the jaw crack from where she's standing.

Her hands fly to her mouth, and a scream erupts in the dining hall as the two men wrestle on the ground, their bodies a flurry of fists and kicks.

"STOP IT!" she finds herself shouting, and she rushes over to try and help, but she's pushed out of the way by some of Lt. Grey's companions, who are circling around the two men, cheering for their friend and calling Tom all manner of slurs.

She needs help, she needs—

Her eyes spy Tom Bellasis just beyond dining hall talking to Maj. Tapsell, and she flies to his side, grabbing his arm and tugging him back to the fight, not even bothering to explain anything, not caring that she's interrupted Maj. Tapsell, just needing him to use his authority as a captain to stop it.

As soon as he does realize what's happening, he shouts, "WHAT'S GOING ON!?"

The men straighten and fall back…except for two.

Tom is on top of Lt. Grey, sitting on his chest and his fists are STILL flying. "BRANSON!" Capt. Bellasis shouts, and with the help of two other soldiers, they're able to (just barely) pry Tom off of Larry, who is sputtering and gasping and bruised and bloody and Sybil can't say she's sorry, in fact she won't. The man got what he deserved as far as she's concerned.

But if she thought Lt. Grey a snake before, it's nothing compared to when he cries, "This man attacked an officer of the British Army!" He points an accusing finger at Tom. "He needs to be horse-whipped!"

"WHAT!?" Sybil gasps before turning to her friend. "Lt. Grey is responsible for the fight! He goaded Tom, he—"

"An inferior officer, or in this case, _volunteer_," Maj. Tapsell's voice drips with condescension as he now adds his voice to the argument, "needs to be made an example of, if he lashes out at his superior. The man should be punished, and Lt. Grey is quite right about the type of punishment."

Sybil can't believe what she's hearing. They're going to…_WHIP him!?_

"I'll leave it to you," Maj. Tapsell dismisses in a bored tone. "But see that it's done, Captain."

Sybil stares at her friend, shaking her head. "No…no, Tom, you can't—"

"You heard the Major, Captain," Lt. Grey salutes Capt. Bellasis. "I'll proudly administer the punishment—"

"You will do NO SUCH THING, Grey," Capt. Ballasis snarls, before sighing, "I'll see to it."

Sybil looks at the man who is her childhood friend as if she's never seen him before, as if he's a monster! And he is if he's going to…

Tom Branson is hauled to his feet and dragged to a post, his shirt literally ripped from his back while Lt. Grey pushes the whip into Capt. Bellasis' hands.

He looks at her guiltily. "You should go, Sybil," he mutters under his breath.

She can't believe this. _"Are you mad!?"_ she hisses.

He stiffens. "That's an order, Nurse Crawley—"

"With all due respect, _Captain_," her hands go to her hips and she glares back at him. "I will not. I will stand right here…and when you are done playing the savage, I will be his nurse and see to his recovery."

He unfurls the whip, but she remains where she stands, her chin high and her shoulders set. Her eyes dash to Branson, and they hold each other's gazes. _Just look at me…keep your eyes on me…_

"BRANSON!" Capt. Bellasis shouts, and Sybil holds her breath as he drops the whip. "You're restricted to your quarters until further notice. Go."

"WHAT!?" Lt. Grey starts to roar, but Tom Bellasis silences him with a harsh look. He then turns to Sybil, and she can see the guilt in his eyes, as well as the apology. Without another word, he turns and walks away.

The crowd disperses. The show is over.

_To be continued..._


	17. Chapter 17

_Follows immediately after the events of chapter 16; if you've been wondering who that other Irishman was, you're about to find out! Oh, and there's another surprise too ;o) _

_**Prompt:** "It's not worth throwing punches over."_

* * *

It wasn't so unusual for a closeness to develop between herself and her patients; this was something she had been told when she started her training, and something she and other nurses often witnessed and experienced first-hand. It makes sense really; the bond between patient and nurse is born out of trust, the patient having to show his vulnerability, and the nurse accepting that, but not exploiting it. Her care once again helps to build the patient's confidence once again, and thus trust is quickly established between the two.

At least that's how she's always understood it.

Is it so unusual then that now, as she finds herself helping Tom Branson into his tent, that she feels that bond growing stronger than ever before? The only difference being that this was a bond that began long before he became he patient…

Tom hisses as she applies the ointment to the cuts on his face. "Sorry," she mumbles under her breath, but she doesn't stop the treatment, nor does he fight her on it.

"It's alright," he mumbles in reply, attempting to smile in an effort to make light of the situation, if one can. "Better than being horse-whipped, at least."

He shouldn't make jokes like that, but Sybil doesn't feel like arguing the matter. Besides, he isn't wrong.

It was her idea to bring him back to his tent, rather than see to his care in the hospital. Partially, Sybil admits, because she didn't want other people gawking, but also (and perhaps the real reason, if she's honest with herself) she wanted to a chance to speak with him privately, without the fear that someone be it Tom Bellasis, Lt. Grey, or worse, Maj. Tapsell, interrupting. So with her arm around Tom Branson's waist (not that he really needed to lean his weight on her, but she insisted and he didn't argue), they stop at the hospital tent and she gathers a basket of supplies that she'll need, and then proceed to his quarters, just as Capt. Bellasis ordered, where they sit now, the both of them sitting on his cot, him still shirtless after the one he had been wearing was ripped from his body.

Sybil can't remember ever feeling this warm while working with another patient (and she's seen and bathed naked men!)

"I'm sorry…"

She's brought out of her thoughts (which she can't deny, she's grateful for) by his voice. It's soft, but the words were quite clear.

Before she can ask him what he's apologizing for, he explains. "I don't often lose my temper like that…"

Now she understands. "In your defense, he did goad you."

Tom snorts. "Aye, but that doesn't mean I had to respond." He sounds both embarrassed and perhaps even a little disgusted with himself.

"I can't imagine many people not responding to something like that," she murmurs.

"Still…I am sorry you had to see that."

"Tom…" she sighs. "I'm not going to scold you and say 'it's not worth throwing punches over'. I do not think less of you for what happened," and she means it. He chuckles at this, and it warms her heart to hear. Then, with a deep breath, she asks him what she's been meaning to ask him for quite some time. "…Who was he?"

There's a pause, but he does answer her. "My cousin."

_Family._ The news, no matter what it was, would have been heartbreaking, but for some reason, it seems to affect her more that she knows the Irishman was a relation of his.

"Remember when I…" he sighs and lowers his eyes. "…When I shouted at you and made that mention about 'the Easter Rising'? Well…my cousin, he…he was walking down North King's Street, and was stopped, held at gunpoint, and then placed under arrest because he was suspected of a bombing…" he grits his teeth at the memory. "He never got involved in anything political, so what 'evidence' they had to go on is beyond me, but they arrested him, tortured him, and then gave him a choice…either go to prison or serve in the army." He starts to laugh bitterly, which surprises Sybil. "Poor bastard thought he'd last longer if he joined the army…"

Sybil feels her stomach drop. Now it all makes sense, the frightened voice telling Tom he "needed to get out of there". His cousin thought he was choosing the lesser of two evils.

"…And the sad thing is, while he would have suffered in prison, he might still be alive…"

She glances over and sees that he's shaking, as one does when they are crying. He has his body twisted away from her so that she can't see his tears, but she doesn't need to see them to know, nor does she think less of him for shedding them. How could she?

"Oh God," he groans. "What…what am I going to tell his mother? I…I promised her that I would…" he can't finish the sentence, and Sybil can't bear another moment. She does something then that she's never done before in her work as a nurse, which is she reaches over, grasps him by the shoulders, and pulls him to her, wrapping her arms around his trembling form and drawing him close, offering whatever comfort she can give…

And he doesn't pull away, in fact he sags against her and buries his bruised face in her shoulder and weeps, and she simply holds him, one hand cupping the back of his head, while the other runs up and down his broad, naked back.

They sit like that for a long time, or so it feels. Even after his sobs have subsided, they don't let go.

Slowly…he begins to lift his head, but their hold of each other hasn't lessened. Sybil holds her breath and her heart seems to stop as her eyes go back and forth between his and his lips.

Did she lean forward? Or was it him? Or was it both? She doesn't know, nor does she really care. But a sigh escapes her mouth just before her lips touch his.

It is not in some London ballroom, or even some secluded corner of Downton Abbey where Lady Sybil Crawley experiences her first kiss, but in the tent of an Irish ambulance driver, in the middle of The Great War.

…And she honestly can't imagine it being any more perfect.

_To be continued..._


	18. Chapter 18

_Sooooo...did you all like that kiss from the last chapter? ;o) I hope you were able to read it (FF has been having issues) so if you weren't able, please read it now (sorry for the spoiler) :oP And for those of you wondering what happened immediatley after...well, here's your answer. THANKS AGAIN FOR READING!_

_**Prompt:** "You want me to do _what?"

* * *

_July 1917_

When Sybil first met Matthew, she thought him terribly handsome and the perfect gentleman and couldn't quite understand why Mary seemed to despise him so much. She was only sixteen at the time, far too young for him to even view as a possible romantic partner, but for the first few weeks of their acquaintance, that hadn't necessarily stopped her from daydreaming about dancing with him, or taking his arm for a stroll. Then her interest in the suffrage movement took root thanks to her Cousin Isobel who shared some pamphlets with her, and Sybil soon realized it wasn't Matthew's company she sought (though she did like his progressive views on various matters) but Isobel's, and her "schoolgirl crush" quickly came to an end, and she couldn't say she was upset by that.

That was really the only time Sybil could say she fancied herself…"in love". But of course, as it turned out, she was wrong.

…So what does that mean now?

She passes the place where his tent used to lie, right next to where he parked the ambulance. It's not there now, because he's not there. He's gone back to Ireland, back to attend a memorial service for his cousin and provide some kind of "comfort" to his aunt and the rest of his family. He's been gone for nearly a month, mainly because he hasn't taken any leave since he arrived (how "generous").

She shakes her head at her own foolishness; she knows he's not there, she _knows_ it, so why does she continue passing this place day after day?

Well, she knows the answer to that as well. Because ever since it's happened, she can't stop thinking about the kiss they shared.

It was brief…just the faintest of touches. But she remembers how warm and soft his lips felt…how they moved against hers…the deep moan that filled her ears, and her own voice rising to meet it. She wanted more, but they both retreated, their heads falling back and their breath coming in short gasps as they stared at each other, not speaking, just…assessing what happened.

She is attracted to him—has been attracted to him, for…who knows how long, but for quite some time. And yes, he's flirted with her, but…but did that mean anything? Is he attracted to her? Does he think about her the way she's thinking about him? Even now that they're apart? Does his mind wander back to that night when they kissed? Does he wish it could have been more?

Or is she simply being foolish? After all, he was grieving for his cousin, and she did put her arms around him. Maybe that's all it was, just…him seeking comfort in the midst of his grief? Perhaps that explains why he leaned away from her before the kiss could deepen?

She shakes her head again, not only feeling foolish but annoyed at herself. She's a nurse! She has a job to do, she didn't come here to sit and mope and daydream about man she really hardly knows, and she doubts he's doing the same, in fact she doubts she even crosses his mind, so really, she should just…focus on the tasks at hand.

…And STOP walking past the ambulance every day, as if hoping he'll magically appear!

Well, if she needed a distraction from Tom Branson, she found it.

Days later, she's woken in the middle of the night by another nurse, telling her that Thomas has been shot. Sybil gasps and scrambles out of bed, quickly donning her uniform and rushing to the hospital.

Ever since Lt. Courtney's death, she and Thomas have been distant with one another, but the thought of losing him is just too unbearable. She murmurs every prayer she knows as she bursts into the hospital, looking wildly around, expecting to see him lying on some operating table, being prepared for surgery…

"HOLY FUCK!"

Sybil gasps…and looks surprised at the sight of her friend, sitting before a doctor, his hand, bloody and misshapen, lying on a table, while he holds a bottle of some form of alcohol and keeps taking swigs of it, while wincing in pain.

"Thomas!" she gasps, coming over to his side, her eyes widening as she sees the gaping hole in the middle of his hand. "Oh Thomas…"

"Sybil," he growls, clearly not in the mood for words of concern or sympathy. "Get…me…a cigarette!"

Later, after the surgeons have finished with him and his bloody hand is wrapped in bandages, Thomas sits where he is, smoking and staring off into the distance, while Sybil sits close by, not daring to leave his side.

"They said it was a stray bullet…" she murmurs, her eyes falling to his hand. "They said that it was thankfully a clean shot…that…that despite what happened, you can still move your fingers…"

Thomas just shrugs his shoulders. "Can't stay here though," he mutters, flicking ash from his cigarette.

Sybil's brow furrows. "No…no, you'll be discharged…"

Thomas just nods his head.

Her eyes widen, and she leans closer and hisses, "did you do this _on purpose!?"_

He looks at her…but he doesn't say anything.

Sybil sits back…taking in her friend's unspoken truth. _Thomas found a way out._

"You think I'm a coward, don't you?"

She looks back at him and without hesitation, shakes her head. "I think this war makes men desperate. I think…after everything we've seen and experienced, it only makes sense to want to leave."

He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Do _you_ want to leave?"

She honestly doesn't know. The only thing she does know is that she wants Tom Branson back.

"What will you do now?" she asks him, changing the subject.

Thomas shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe some hospital in London will take me—"

"Or you could go to Downton?" she suggests.

He practically chokes on his cigarette. "You want me to do _what_?"

"It's a convalescent home now!" she explains. "And my cousin told me that they always need staff to help! You would be wonderful there! At least…think about it, please?"

He looks at her for a moment, and then nods his head. "I'll give it some thought," he murmurs, and Sybil smiles. It's a start.

"And you? You never answered my question but…I imagine you're going to stay here, and 'fight the good fight'."

She looks down and blushes.

"Just be careful," he warns her, to which Sybil lifts her head and nods. But the look on his face is quite serious. "Guard your heart, Nurse Crawley. Trust me...that's something no surgeon can mend."

_To be continued..._


	19. Chapter 19

_Angst is on the move again, and for the Matthew fans who I know are reading/following this story, this is a (somewhat) big chapter for him! Thank you again for reading and following! _

_**Prompt:** "Hey, have you seen the, _oh!"

* * *

_August 1917_

It was exactly two months to the day when her father announced that England was at war with Germany, that Matthew announced he would be joining the army. They had just finished dinner and were gathered in the drawing room, and as soon as the words had left his mouth, Sybil swore you could hear a pin drop.

There were so many different reactions. Shock was the most obvious, which was followed by her father stepping forward and saluting him, clapping him on the shoulder and saying (perhaps with a bit too much confidence) _"Britain is sure of a victory now!"_ Others tried to match her father's "enthusiasm", but in the end, there was a look of uncertainty and dread that was mirrored on practically every face.

Especially Mary's.

Then, the papers were all saying the same thing; that _"the war will be over by Christmas!"_ Now, four years since the start of the War, it continues…and Sybil honestly can't say when it will end.

"Nurse Crawley?"

She lifts her head to Sister Agatha, who his holding some letters out to her. "Post arrived," Sister Agatha explains, though she seems troubled. "Hmmm…there appears to be a mistake; Capt. Crawley's post was mixed up with yours."

Sybil's eyes widen and she practically snatches the letters right out from Sister Agatha's hands. "I'll hold on to it until he returns," she tells the woman, blushing and quickly lowering her eyes, but nonetheless clutching the letters close to her heart.

Matthew's been gone for nine days—some sort of "special assignment", but that was all he told her. She remembers him coming the nurse's station late one evening, pulling her aside and telling her that he would be gone for "a few days". He and a select group of men were going on a special assignment, which Sybil knew, based on her time being there, that they were going to be doing something "behind enemy lines". What exactly? She didn't know, nor did he volunteer the information. Neither did he specify how long "a few days" was going to be. So she dumbly nodded her head and promised to "keep calm" for the rest of the Crawley family if for any reason they should ask about him…and then he left.

_I just stood there, staring blankly while he basically told me he might not be coming back,_ she silently reprimands. And upon glancing down at the letters in her hands, she can see that there are two addressed to Matthew, one from Cousin Isobel and the other…from Mary.

Mary and Matthew have been going through this "dance" of sorts, ever since they first met. At one point Sybil was positive Matthew was going to propose, but something must have happened because…he didn't. Neither of them is attached to any other, but they seem to be avoiding the obvious. Yet it's quite plain to Sybil, especially after she caught them briefly dancing together this past Christmas, when everyone else had gone up to bed…they're in love.

Wholly, and completely in love.

Why do people do that? Hide from their feelings? If the War has taught her anything, life is far, far too short to live in fear from something like one's emotions.

When Matthew gets back, she has a good mind to thrust paper and pen into his hands and hover over his shoulder until he writes back to her sister, telling her everything that's in his heart and finally putting an end to this silly dance of theirs once and for all.

…When he gets back.

But when will that be?

…And not for the first time, does another come to her mind when she asks herself that question.

She tries to distract herself from these thoughts and worries by reading her letter from Thomas, who did get the job at Downton (being promoted to "staff-sergeant" at the convalescent home), when another nurse asks her if she knows where the newest crate of bandages has gone.

"I'll get it," Sybil tells her, and puts her letter into her pocket and goes to the supply tent. The sun is setting, casting shadows across the camp. Sybil sees a figure near the supply tent, but can't make out who it is. "Hey, have you seen the…? _Oh_."

Her mouth falls open…and her eyes widen in shock…as the man turns around…

"Milady," he greets in his beautiful Irish accent, before giving her a small, cheeky smile, and a slight bow of his head.

"…Tom?" _He's back. He's BACK!_

He looks down and blushes, before lifting his eyes to hers and stuffing his hands inside his pockets, his smile now tender. "How are you, Nurse Crawley?"

She answers by throwing her arms around him and hugging him fiercely. Tom catches her and much to Sybil's relief, hugs her back, every bit as tightly as she hugs him.

They don't speak, they hardly even move. They just hold each other…and it's wonderful.

When their arms do eventually loosen, Sybil realizes then that she's been crying, and quickly wipes at her cheeks before putting on a smile and gasping, "When did you get back?"

"Just now, actually. I don't think I've been here for…thirty minutes, before you found me."

Before she found him. She can't help but wonder…would he have gone looking for her? _Has_ he thought about her the way she's been thinking about him?

"Your family?" she asks, biting her lip because she knows it's a tender subject. "How…?"

He sighs, but she can see that he appreciates the thought. "As well as they could be, after something like this."

She wants to say more (so much more) but an officer barks Tom's name, and just like that, he's back to his duty.

War has no time for sentimental reunions.

Later that night she lies awake, thinking about Tom Branson, wondering how she should behave around him. It's clear the kiss was nothing more than a moment when a grieving man was seeking comfort.

The thought brings tears to her eyes.

"Nurse Crawley?"

Sybil gasps, shaken from her thoughts by Sister Agatha's voice and quickly scrambles out of her cot. The woman looks grave, and Sybil's stomach coils in dread.

_Matthew. Something's happened to Matthew…_

And she isn't wrong.

"I have been told to inform you that…Capt. Crawley is missing."

_To be continued..._


	20. Chapter 20

_This one's a bit longer than the others, but I regret nothing. Also, **this** particular chapter is rated M (again, I regret nothing!) So without further ado..._

_**Prompt:** "I need this."_

* * *

As a child, whenever she was afraid, Sybil would go seek comfort with Mary, going so far as to crawl into bed with her sister after waking from a bad dream, or when a storm started to rage at night. Mary would grumble at first, but in the end welcome her baby sister, wrapping her arms around Sybil's trembling form and whispering soothing words, _"hush now, you're safe, I won't let anything hurt you."_

She's long since outgrown such needs, though right now, Sybil longs for nothing more than to hear those words and feel her sister's arms around her. But Mary isn't here. And Sybil has a feeling that if she were, it would be Mary that would need the comforting after learning this news.

But that's just it. Mary doesn't know. Isobel doesn't know. NO ONE knows, except a handful of people…and herself.

_Matthew is missing._ And while the words remain unspoken, Sybil knows their meaning hovers around her. _Matthew may be dead._

Sister Agatha is not a warm woman, but she is not unfeeling. She offers Sybil a cup of tea (ever the English answer to tragic news), but tea will not provide the comfort that she so desperately seeks right now.

She maneuvers through the darkness and the shadows until she reaches the ambulance, and she can't help but let out a sigh of relief at seeing his tent once again. She knows it's rude, but she hopes he'll be forgiving as she lifts the flap and pokes her head inside. "…Tom?"

He stirs, opens his eyes, and then promptly sits up. "Sybil?" He's sleepy and confused, but also alert and concerned. He doesn't tell her to get out, but rather offers her his hand…and she doesn't hesitate to take it.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

She opens her mouth to speak…but finds that she can't. And so with a whimper, the tears begin to fall and Tom, bless him, doesn't ask further questions, he simply gives her hand a gentle tug and she easily goes into his arms.

Mary's arms, while they always felt warm and safe, are nothing like Tom Branson's. Mary's arms are willowy and soft, and reminded Sybil of a flower's petals that gently enfolded the butterfly or honeybee that had come to kiss it.

Tom Branson's arms are hard, muscular, and wonderfully strong. There is nothing "delicate" about him. He is like a rock upon the shore, shielding her from the storm that rages around her.

One hand is stroking her hair and cradling the back of her head. She blushes, because it's just now that she remembers that she's in her nightgown and her hair is tumbling down her back, but she doesn't care. If anything, she burrows closer to him.

He murmurs something into her hair…but she doesn't understand the language. But she doesn't need to, because she knows the words are meant to be comforting. With a sniffle, she lifts her head and finally looks into his eyes, her heart beating rapidly at the kind concern she sees reflected back.

…And something else too. But she doesn't dare to hope what that might be.

"Matthew," she whispers.

His eyes widen. "Capt. Crawley?"

She nods. "He…he's missing," she explains. "Just over a week ago he came to tell me that…that he was going on some mission, but he didn't say anything further, other than he would only be gone for a few days, but…but now they say he's missing, and he could be dead for all I know! And…and that's the thing…I, who know so little, am _the only one_ who knows! Isobel doesn't know, Papa doesn't know, Mary…" she bites her lip, panic squeezing her heart and new tears stinging her eyes. "I…I don't know what to do, I…" she can't finish the sentence, she simply starts to sob anew, and Tom just holds her tightly, letting her cry against him.

It's gentle at first…so gentle that she doesn't realize he's doing it, until it finally registers that…his lips are grazing her temple, and that in between his soothing foreign words, he pauses to kiss her brow.

She sucks in a breath…and leans her face away, but only so far. Her eyes fall to his lips…as his do to hers.

And just as it had happened the night she held him while he cried…so too do their lips meet again.

But this time it's different.

Their last kiss was light and faint, a simple yet sweet brush of lips. Now, the kiss is stronger…deeper…and Sybil gasps as his tongue runs along the seam of her mouth, and she moans as it slips between her lips, drawing her own tongue out and welcoming it into his mouth.

He gasps and pulls away and Sybil looks at him, afraid he's going to start apologizing, or worse, tell her to leave.

But instead…he makes a confession.

"I have wanted to kiss you again ever since that night. When I saw you earlier, I wanted to kiss you so badly…"

_Me too._ "Then kiss me," she tells him, pressing her body closer. "Kiss me again and don't stop."

"Sybil…" there's a warning in his voice, and she can read it in his eyes. He's being the gentleman, but she can see the struggle and she knows she's not helping, but…

"Please," she pleads. "I need this."

It's a selfish request, but at the same time, she feels no shame. Society dictates that her body should be for her husband and him alone, but war has a way of changing a person's priorities. And besides, she's thousands of miles away from Society. And she was never very good at following their rules anyway.

A thankful moan escapes her throat as he kisses her again, which is followed by a gasp as he lifts her onto his lap.

Her legs seem to have a mind of their own, and wrap around him, and he grips the hem of her nightgown and pulls it up.

Even before he's loosened his trousers she can feel him between her legs, hard and throbbing. They continue kissing, his mouth moving along her jaw, her neck, sucking and nipping the flesh, making her whimper and purr, and then her eyes fly open and she practically screams as she feels his fingers stroke her, making her body ache even more for him.

It's awkward at first, and she does wince when he enters her…but doesn't want him to stop, and she follows his motions, her own body rocking with his as he holds her on his lap, his hands falling down to cup her backside and guide her, helping her find the rhythm. And soon, any thoughts of initial pain or discomfort are gone…and all she can feel is pleasure. All she can feel is him.

He kisses her, hard, to prevent her from screaming as her release builds, and she comes apart when his fingers sneak between their bodies and strokes the nub at the apex of her core. Her body squeezes his, but suddenly he's shoving her off him and she lands back on his cot, while he grabs a rag and spills his seed into it.

He pants…and then glances over at her, looking a bit embarrassed. "Sorry," he mumbles.

She shakes her head. Even in the midst of passion, he was thinking clearly. Or clear enough, as no doubt he might argue that if he were truly thinking clearly, this wouldn't have happened, but she doesn't want to hear those words so she doesn't say anything. All she does is hold her arms out to him…and she can't help but smile as he comes to her.

Despite the horrible news that she's learned, she does honestly feel…happy, right now.

Does that make her wicked? Should she feel guilty? She asks herself these questions, but she can't find it in herself to answer "yes".

"I'll leave before the sun rises," she tells him.

He doesn't argue. He simply holds her. And they both fall into a peaceful slumber.

_To be continued..._


	21. Chapter 21

_Sooooo...I understand _something_ happened in the last chapter? ;o) Hehehehehe :oP _

_Well, I'm glad you enjoyed, but hold on to your seats! More angst is on the way! And this chapter picks up not long after the last one. Thanks for the feedback, love hearing your thoughts!_

_**Prompt:** "Wait right there, don't move!"_

* * *

She's true to her promise; before the sun rises, she does leave…though he's awake to see her go. He kisses her, one last time, before standing by the entrance of his tent and watching her. She can feel his eyes on her back as she darts through the early morning shadows. She feels safe.

She's exhausted when it's time to rise and start the day anew, but at the same time, she feels remarkably refreshed. There's a sense of…serenity about her. And she finds herself smiling as she recalls what he revealed last night.

"_I have wanted to kiss you again ever since that night. When I saw you earlier, I wanted to kiss you so badly…"_

He _did_ think about her. He _did_ miss her. She _was_ on his mind just as he was on hers!

But what does that mean?

Sybil sucks in a deep breath as she contemplates this.

Growing up, one did hear stories about well-bred ladies taking lovers who were deemed "far beneath them" in the eyes of Society; _Lady Chatterley's Lover_ might be a work of fiction, but it isn't so difficult to comprehend.

Is that what she's done? Though can a man be qualified as one's "lover" after just one time? She shakes her head at the foolish thought and suddenly feels sick. _I've used him…he tried to warn me and I didn't listen._ She feels horrible; oh God, what does she say? How should she look at him? How should she approach him? And what does he think of her? Has she gone down in his estimation because she wanted him to make love to her?

Make love to her.

Such a romantic turn of phrase, but she isn't sure if what they did could be qualified as "romance".

And when you "make love" to someone, shouldn't there be a little bit of…_that_, in the act? That, being…love?

…Is she in love with Tom Branson?

_Yes._

NO! Don't be ridiculous…

_You're too scared to admit it, but you're in love with him…_

"Nurse Crawley."

She's shaken from her thoughts by Sister Agatha, her voice firm, but her expression not as hard.

"I understand after the news you received last night that you're still upset…but we do have patients to see to, and I need you to put aside your personal thoughts and be a nurse to these men."

She mutely nods her head…and the guilt she was feeling earlier doubles as she realizes that the "personal thoughts" to which Sister Agatha had been referring to were not about her confused feelings for Tom Branson, but about Matthew—dear Matthew, who she hasn't spared a thought to since she rose this morning. Oh God in heaven, she's horrible!

Her penance is doing what Sister Agatha commands, which is throwing herself into her work, assisting the doctors and helping her fellow nurses as they care for the injured and recovering men.

She doesn't see Tom again throughout the day. She hears the ambulance and lifts her head, but not once does she see him appear. And her heart sinks…and then her mind tells her to snap out of it and get back to work.

_You were upset, you were seeking comfort, you told him that you "needed this", a sense of feeling alive when you're surrounded by death. And you were thinking about Matthew and Mary, about how it's so clear that they love each other and yet haven't said anything…_

She silences her mind then.

_Matthew and Mary…_

It's true, it's so clear to her and to everyone else that they love each other, that they have been in love for…years. And it's so frustrating that they continue to deny themselves, and for what purpose? If the War has taught her anything it's that life is far, far too short to…let stubborn pride rule your heart.

She doesn't want to fall into the same trap as her sister. She doesn't want to wait until something like this happens, when it might be too late to give her heart.

"Sybil?" Tom Bellasis calls, touching her shoulder and looking at her with some concern. "Are you alright?"

She looks at her friend…and grins. "I am," she tells him, her heart swelling. She knows what she must do.

Her feet fly towards his tent…but he isn't there. The ambulance is gone. She tries not to be disappointed and just tells herself he'll be back later. This gives her time to put her thoughts in order—

"NURSE CRAWLEY!" someone cries. She turns and sees another nurse rushing forward. "Wait right there, don't move!" Sybil does as she's told and when the girl reaches her, she whispers, "You're to report to the General's tent, immediately!"

The General's tent? Why on earth…?

_Matthew._

Oh no.

How she manages to walk, she isn't sure, but somehow…she finds herself there, and Sister Agatha is waiting for her, and puts her arm around Sybil's shoulders and guides her inside, and she can feel the bile rising in her throat as the panic seizes her heart—

"Sybil…"

Her hand flies to her mouth and a strange sound escapes her throat as she stares back into the blue eyes of her cousin, his wonderful, handsome face grinning back at her, and without further comment, she flies across the space between them and enfolds him in her arms.

He's alive. He's ALIVE!

He's talking, providing her with an explanation to what happened, but she isn't paying attention, she's just too overjoyed that he's safe…

And then she looks over his shoulder and realizes there's another present.

_Tom._

He's smiling at her, tenderly, and her heart leaps at the sight of him. She mutely nods her head to whatever Matthew or the other officers in the tent have to say, then turns and leaves, her eyes lingering on Tom before the flaps shut in her face.

She waits for him at the ambulance…and within a matter of minutes, he's there.

"I came across him on my last journey back from the trenches," he's explaining as he walks up to her. "He had just made it back—"

His speech is stopped by the pressure of her lips, and she moans as once again, his arms encircle her and draw her closer, pulling them both into the shadow of the ambulance so no one will see.

When the need for oxygen forces them to part, Sybil doesn't hesitate to say, "I love you…"

He stares at her, his eyes wide.

She pushes on. "I know it's mad, and you probably think me foolish, but I do! I love you, and…and I'm not just saying this because I'm overjoyed at Matthew's return, or because of what happened last night...I love you, Tom Branson—I think I've been in love with you for quite some time, and…and I don't want hide what I feel, I—"

Now it's his mouth that stops her from speaking. And when they part a second time, happy tears fill her eyes as she hears him murmur, "Oh my darlin', I do love you so much…"

_To be continued..._


	22. Chapter 22

_I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter *le sigh* here's a little more couple-fluff (consider it a "calm before the storm") ;o) This chapter is *sort of* rated M, just to keep in mind._

_We're going to jump ahead in time a bit; it was August 1917 when Sybil and Tom revealed their feelings for each other. Now four months later, we get a glimpse into what they've been doing since that moment. __Thanks again for all the feedback and for your continued reading and following! _

_**Prompt:** "Can I tell you a secret?"_

* * *

_December 1917_

Everything has changed. The War still continues, there are still injured men to care for, dying men to bury; in some ways it doesn't seem that different. But no matter how bleak things seem, or how endless the rut that is this horrible, bloody war is, everything is more bearable…because of Tom.

And he would say the same about her—has said the same about her. He's called her "his strength", and that the love she shares gives him hope. They have both experienced tragedy and loss, and they are surrounded by it daily in this place. But at the end of a grueling day, they manage to find comfort and renewal with each other, be that a lingering glance, a note passed through a loving squeeze, or a secret rendezvous, where they spend hours in each other's arms, sometimes talking, often kissing, always falling asleep holding each other.

…And sometimes they do _other_ things.

Like tonight; Christmas Eve.

A contented sigh (as well as satisfied) escapes Sybil's lips as she stretches herself against Tom's wonderfully naked body. Though it's quite cold outside, they've managed to keep each other warm. Tom's chuckle causes his chest to vibrate and tickle's Sybil's ear. She giggles and leans up, her chin resting on his chest as she looks at him, her fingers rising to tangle in the hairs that are matted at the center. "Something amusing?"

He grins. "You."

She sits up, not bothering to cover herself (her sense of propriety long gone). "Me? What's so amusing about me?"

"You look like the cat that got hold of the cream," he tells her. "All because you had your 'wicked way' with me."

She rolls her eyes. "As if you didn't enjoy it."

He sits up now himself, his lips going to that sensitive spot on her neck. "You _know_ I did," he growls. "I _love_ it when you're on top."

She blushes, but she smiles as the memory from the last half-hour washes over her. "Why is that?"

He lifts his head and cocks his eyebrows at her question. "Well, for one I love watching you throw your head back in pleasure," his fingers run over the skin of her stomach. "I love the feel of you riding me…" She moans at his vivid description. "And, to be perfectly honest…" his hand rises higher. "It's much easier for me to play with your breasts."

She swats his hand as he squeezes her, though she's in the midst of giggles.

"It's true!" he defends, putting on a mock pout after her swat. "I can't touch you as much as I would like when I'm on top, or else I'd crush you."

She snakes her arms around him and presses herself against him. "Mmmm, but I love it when you crush me…"

He groans and seizes her in his arms, rolling them over until he is on top, and wonderfully crushing her. "Do you…" he asks her between kisses. "…have…another?"

She nods her head and grins as she reaches into the pocket of her discarded apron and retrieves another French letter. "Happy Christmas," she murmurs, before her giggles turn into blissful sighs which soon become pleasured gasps as they begin again.

It's a rare treat when they're able to get their hands on more than one French letter at a time. The supply is not something many people are aware, for fear that they would have a "run on the hospital" if the soldiers did know. "_Because that would be worse than English soldiers transmitting venereal disease,"_ she once muttered sarcastically to another nurse. Still, for this reason, she has to be careful with how many she steals, and quite often it's just one for a single night.

However, she has quickly learned that there are…other ways…of pleasuring one's partner (who knew all the things that lips, fingers, and tongues could do?)

French letters do make it easier, and are much more reliant than trying to disengage from one another before they lose all control. Not to mention Sybil rather enjoys feeling Tom inside her when his pleasure claims him.

Afterwards, as they catch their breath, Sybil rests her head on his chest, her ear pressed over his heart, listening to its strange and wonderful beat. She still remembers the night he told her about his heart murmur, explaining that that was the reason why the army couldn't accept him as a soldier (not that he would willingly go anyway). After assuring her (several times) that it wasn't as dangerous as it might sound, she commented, _"I'm still surprised they accepted you as an ambulance driver."_

"_The truth is they were desperate. And I had promised my aunt that I would keep an eye on my cousin…"_

It's still a tender subject, and probably always will be.

"Is it wicked of me to be glad that your heart keeps you from the trenches?" she asks out loud. Though that's not entirely true. Every day when he drives that ambulance to gather the injured, he puts his life at risk. She looks up at him again, her own heart swelling with love and pride. "You may not be a soldier, but you're the bravest and most honorable man I know."

He brushes a strand of hair from her cheek, his eyes soft but questioning.

"You didn't have to come back," she explains. "You did your duty; you stayed for your cousin. No one would have blamed you for wanting to stay…and yet you _did_ come back; back for those boys whose lives are being used like poker chips." She spits the last words quite venomously. His views have rubbed off on her.

His fingers cup her chin. "Not just for them…"

She smiles, and leans up to share a deep, loving kiss, before settling in his arms and sighing happily as their bodies succumb at last to the need for sleep.

Not for the first time is she glad that she chose to stay for Christmas.

No doubt her family is furious, and she prays they will not take it out on Matthew for returning without her. Her excuse for staying is because she went home last Christmas, and feels she owes it to the other nurses to have that chance. The reason, of course, is Tom.

They shared a dance earlier, just the two of them. It was their present unto each other. A group of men singing Christmas carols provided the music they needed, and Sybil rested her head against his shoulder as they swayed together in the ambulance's shadows.

It's not a servant's ball, but then he isn't a servant.

No, they are equals—they always have been.

A thought comes to her, and not for the first time. It's something that she's been debating about saying. "…Can I tell you a secret?" she whispers.

His breathing is slow and even, and when she glances up, she can see that he's fallen asleep.

She smiles, and shakes her head, before snuggling closer and closing her eyes. It can wait.

_To be continued..._


	23. Chapter 23

_Well, as lovely as those last chapters were, it is important to remember that we are in the midst of a war, so the calm can only last for so long._

_We leap ahead again, just a little bit into early 1918. Sybil has a big scene with a Tom in this chapter, but it's *not* Tom Branson. So try to keep that i mind while you're reading it to avoid confusion!_

_Thank you again for your comments and for reading! I hope you enjoy (even though it's angsty!)_

_**Prompt:** "This isn't exactly what I had in mind."_

* * *

_February 1918_

People are noticing.

It isn't the first time she's been gossiped about; Sybil still remembers how others once believed she was romantically linked with Thomas Barrow. But this is different. Then, it was pointing fingers and blushing giggles behind cupped hands. Now…it's accusatory stares and silent looks of judgment.

Perhaps that's too harsh. But there is something in the way people look at her; a question in their eyes.

She's halfway tempted to stand up on a chair and shout _"yes! Yes, I am in love with Tom Branson and we are lovers and I feel no sense of shame or regret!" _

But she doesn't. There's enough "aristocrat" still in her to try her best to ignore, dismiss, and look down her nose upon their preconceived gazes.

"Have you heard from Imogen?" Tom Bellasis asks her, while they are putting supplies away in the hospital.

She's rather grateful for the distraction. "I'm afraid I haven't, what does she have to say?"

Her smile fades as she sees the look of disappointment on his face.

"She's married."

Sybil's eyes widen. "Oh!" She is surprised, she can't deny. When last she saw Imogen, her friend was newly engaged, but nothing had been said about when the wedding would be taking place. "Well…well that's wonderful!"

He doesn't seem to share her sentiment.

"She didn't want to wait," he explains. "Mama tried to get her to hold back until the spring, when I would have my leave, but…you know Imogen," he sighs.

Sybil smiles at that and quietly nods. _"Headstrong to a fault," _her grandmother would say. No wonder she and Sybil got along so well as children.

However, she can understand Tom's disappointment for missing it, and reaches out to touch his hand in a friendly gesture of sympathy and understanding.

She's surprised when he covers her hand and squeezes it.

"Sybil…" he swallows and lifts his eyes to hers and Sybil feels the blood drain from her cheeks. "After reading her letter…I, well…it got me thinking…that perhaps…maybe…you...?"

She bites her lip and looks down at their hands. "Tom…"

He looks into her eyes and then down at their hands, and Sybil can't deny she's grateful when he releases her. "Sorry," he mumbles, looking so embarrassed.

She doesn't know what to say, and fears anything she does say will cause him further embarrassment.

He glances at her, and gives her a rather sad looking smile. "I miss…home," he finally says. "And I envy my sister. Her life is moving forward while I remain here," he sighs.

Sybil finds herself nodding. "I understand," she murmurs, but Tom Bellasis, while smiling, shakes his head at her.

"You were made for this, Sybil; not me."

Her brow furrows in confusion. _Made for this? What on earth…?_

"You're a natural when it comes to nursing. You might be an earl's daughter by birth, but you're a nurse by heart."

"But Tom, you're a wonderful doctor and a gifted surgeon—"

"Am I?" he shakes his head, as if answering his own question. "I'm glad I can be of good use here, but…I confess, when I fancied myself becoming a doctor, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"None of it is, how anyone could have imagined—"

"I don't just mean the War," he interrupts. "I…" he looks into her eyes. "I don't have the heart for it the way that you do. Both you and Imogen…you seem to understand yourselves, your desires, your dreams far better than I ever could. And I envy that…" he sighs.

Now she truly doesn't know what to say. To offer him sympathy would sound like she's pitying him, and to contradict him would sound patronizing. However they are interrupted by Sister Agatha, who comes rushing in and looks both pale and serious.

"There was a bombing," she tells them. "A great many men were injured and even more killed…" She pauses and looks at Sybil, and Sybil feels dread fill her stomach. "…Capt. Crawley's unit."

Tom Bellasis grips her hand again, but this time it's to provide her with support, because she feels as if the wind has been knocked out of her.

"Branson is ready with the ambulance," Sister Agatha explains. "He'll need help, no doubt."

Sybil swallows and dumbly nods her head, but Tom Bellasis holds her back. "I'll go."

Sybil whirls around. "But—"

"Assemble the nurses and prepare the operating tables," he instructs, reverting back to stone-faced Capt. Bellasis.

Sister Agatha nods in agreement, and Tom Bellasis lets go of her, before rushing out of the hospital to meet the ambulance. Sybil follows, but only to the tent's entrance, her eyes meeting those of the other Tom, _her Tom, _who gazes back at her and nods his head, providing her with a silent promise.

_He's never left a man behind before…_

"Come on, Nurse Crawley," Sister Agatha softly commands. "The best way to help Capt. Crawley is to be the nurse he and his men need when they come back."

She's right, and Sybil remembers what Tom Bellasis had said before they learned the news…

She was made for this.

It feels like hours as they all stand at the front of the hospital and wait for the ambulance to return. Her body is shaking and her palms are sweating and she keeps thinking about her cousin, and how this anticipation is even worse than the anxiety she felt when he was missing.

"Prepare yourselves!" Sister Agatha barks, as the ambulance is seen in the distance, and Sybil holds her breath as it pulls up and stops outside the hospital, rushing around to the back to where Tom (her Tom) is already at work in opening the doors.

They hold one another's gazes and his expression is one filled with sadness. "It's bad," he whispers.

She just nods her head. She'll seek him out later. Later she will fall into his arms and bury her face against his chest and shed her tears, but right now she will be the nurse Matthew and his men need, just as Sister Agatha said.

But Tom isn't wrong. It _is_ bad.

Very bad.

…Matthew has no legs.

_To be continued..._


	24. Chapter 24

_Ack! I know! I'm sorry about the angst! And I'm sad to say that yes, Matthew _has_ lost his legs. But hang in there my friends, and hopefully this chapter can make up for that shock (at least a little bit)._

_Again, thank you for reading, for reviewing, for following! This might be the longest chapter (so far) but I think you'll forgive me ;o)_

_**Prompt**: "There's something I've been meaning to say…"_

* * *

_March 1918_

She's lost count of the number of operations he's had. The first was there at the field hospital, the efforts simply to stop the bleeding and salvage what was left of Matthew's legs (which sadly is very little below the knee). The second, and every one that's followed, were at a hospital in Paris. Sybil was granted leave for a single day to see him, and though Matthew was awake, he simply stared blankly at the ceiling, not even acknowledging her presence, even when she squeezed his hand.

He's alive and lying on a hospital bed, but just like all the other soldiers she's tended, the look on his face tells her that he's still back on the battlefield, waiting for Death to claim him.

She's terrified he'll do what Lt. Courtney did. And she knows, even before anyone says anything, that when the time comes for him to go back to England, she will have to go with him.

_I _should_ go with him. _She berates herself for even hesitating on the thought. This is her cousin for heaven's sake! But she still can't stop the disappointment and sadness that fills her heart at her impending departure.

On an unusually warm, early spring day, Tom finds her standing in a field, just outside of camp. It's quiet here, and peaceful; she's surprised more people don't come here. Perhaps that's because there's a budding sea of red blossoms? She imagines the color red has fallen out of favor with many a soldier.

He comes up behind her, and Sybil doesn't hesitate to let her body sag back against him. She closes her eyes and tilts her head to the side, his own coming to rest on her shoulder, while his arms wrap around her waist. "When do you leave?" he murmurs in her ear.

She swallows and takes a deep breath. "Tomorrow," she answers. "Early; the hope is that we'll be back in London by the evening, and then on our way to Downton the following day. Matthew will convalesce there."

"Hmmm," he simply murmurs, before repeating words similar to what he once said to her in the past, "that will be good—for him, and for you, I think. To be home, and around family…"

_But what of the family I'm leaving behind?_ Her hands cover his, and she squeezes him even closer to her. "I'm a dreadful person…" she whispers out loud.

She feels Tom move away from her, but only so he can turn her around to face him, one hand cupping her chin while the other strokes her cheek. "Why do you say that?"

She swallows again, the tears welling up inside. "For the thoughts that I'm thinking," she guiltily murmurs.

"And what thoughts are those?"

He's so patient with her, and she appreciates that he's not trying to contradict her and tell her she's wrong. He genuinely wants to know why she believes this.

She lifts her eyes, the tears already blurring her vision. "It's something I've been thinking about for a long time," she confesses, remembering how she almost told him on Christmas Eve, before she realized he had fallen asleep. "This war…so many people have died or been injured…" _Matthew, Tom's cousin, Lt. Courtney._ "…And yet," she bites her lip. "And yet, I…I can't help but feel…glad for it, for the war," she clarifies. "Because…I wouldn't have met you."

It's an odd mixture of emotions. She feels great shame for even thinking such things, and yet at the same time it is true, she _is_ glad, because she loves Tom.

His patient blue eyes never look away, nor do his hands cease their gentle strokes. "Well…if that does make you 'dreadful', you're not alone," he murmurs, and when she looks back up at him, she sees a tender smile. "But I do think we would have found each other," he adds, "no matter what."

She sniffles. "How so?"

Tom shrugs. "Well, I was a chauffeur once. In Yorkshire too."

Her eyes widen. He's never told her that!

"Maybe I would have gotten a job at Downton Abbey? And drive you to all the political rallies in the county?"

She can't help but giggle. "And create quite the scandal with our love affair."

"Aye, 'the Lady and the Chauffeur'," he chuckles, though his face does become serious. "I won't always be a chauffeur, Sybil; I'll make something of myself—"

"I _know_ you will," she assures, her own hands rising to hold his face. "Though in my opinion, you already have."

He smiles at that, and leans his head down to rest against hers. Lord this is going to be hard! God help her, she doesn't want to go, she doesn't want to say goodbye—

"There's something I've been meaning to say…"

She leans her head away and looks up at him quizzically. His face looks pale, and his eyes are nervous. Her own heart starts to beat rapidly.

"Sybil…" he swallows. "When…when we first met, I…I told myself and told myself that I shouldn't…" he pauses and lowers his eyes. Whatever he's trying to tell her seems difficult (and emotional). "A part of my brain kept saying 'she's too far above you', but I…I couldn't stop myself from falling in love with you even if I tried…"

"Oh, Tom—"

"Bet on me."

Her eyes widen.

"Bet on me," he repeats, his shaking hands grasping hers. "The world is changing, and when the War is over—"

She manages to free one hand and lifts her fingers to his lips. He stops speaking, but his eyes never cease searching hers.

"Tom…" she swallows. "Are you…" the word is barely a whisper. _"…Proposing?"_

To answer her question, he sinks down to the ground on one knee.

"I know it might sound mad, and I know your family may not approve at first, but they'll come around, and until they do, I promise to devote every waking minute to your happinessUMPH!"

She ceases his words by more or less tackling him to the ground, her arms thrown around him and her lips pressing urgent kisses against his. "Yes!" she manages to gasp between giggles, tears, and kisses. "Yes! Yes I will, I will!"

He laughs (such a joyous sound) and kisses her back, his own arms enfolding her and holding her to him as they roll amidst the poppies. He's right, it _is_ mad, but at the same time, it's also perfect.

She lifts her head and looks down at him, worry still filling her eyes despite the joy she feels. "Oh, but Tom, I…I still have to go—"

"I know," he tells her. "I wouldn't stop you."

She bites her lip. "It will mean having to wait."

His hand brushes her cheek again. "I'd wait forever."

Her heart melts, both at the sincerity of his words and the truth she sees in his eyes. "I'm not asking for forever," she can't help but giggle. "Just until the War is over, which…God willing, _will_ be soon." _Please be soon._ "But…when it does, come to Downton. We'll go and tell my family, together, and…no matter what they say, whether we have their blessing or not, I'll leave with you that same hour."

He smiles at her fierceness. She means it.

"You won't mind burning your bridges?"

"Mind? Fetch me the matches!"

They both laugh then, which is soon followed by more kisses. That night, they don't even try to hide their feelings; there are several who stare with surprised eyes at the sight of them holding hands. And later, Sybil spends the entire night in his tent. "Make love to me as a husband makes love to his wife," she whispers in the dark. And he does. They are building a memory to take with them, for who knows how long it will be until the War is over...

_To be continued..._


	25. Chapter 25

_**Prompt:** "I'll never unsee that."_

* * *

_April 1918_

Tom was right; it _is_ good to be back. She didn't realize how much she missed her family until she saw all of them standing outside Downton, ready to greet her and Matthew.

Dear Matthew. They've been back for just a little over a month, but he's still quiet and keeps to himself. Papa doesn't know how to be around him, nor Mama for that matter. _"I'll never unsee that,"_ she overhears her father say to her mother one night, upon their first glimpse of Matthew, arriving home, legless. Cousin Isobel, bless her, seems to coddle him too much, and Edith perhaps tries a little too hard to cheer him up and fill the silence.

Only Mary seems to understand his desire for solitude, though it is rare, from what Sybil has seen, of her leaving his side for very long. But when Mary talks, her voice is soft, thoughtful, and sometimes she will simply walk him through the gardens, pushing his chair and not saying anything, just letting the two of them be surrounded by the peace of nature.

But even though his chair doesn't take up a great deal of room, Matthew will not have any of his meals at the dining table, nor will he seek their company in the evenings, or the company of the other officers who are there to convalesce. Mary serves as his companion, and Sybil and Thomas serve as his "medical staff", if you will.

It is good to see Thomas again, Sybil can't deny. He's done well for himself there, is now a "staff-sergeant" for as long as the house is being run as a convalescent home, and it's obvious that Cousin Isobel appreciates his help, even if the two of them sometimes butt heads.

"_She's a good woman, but she can be a bit smothering at times,"_ he tells her one afternoon, while retreating out back to have a cigarette.

Indeed, Mama shares Thomas' sentiments very much, and according to Edith, both her mother and cousin have gotten into rather intense "disagreements" over scheduling. Thankfully Edith has been given the job of "peacekeeper" between the two women, and it's quite clear that she's a favorite amongst many of the officers convalescing there.

It's strange, how familiar and how foreign her childhood home has become. It's still Downton Abbey, her room is just as she left it, the rituals and protocols that they always followed continue, and yet it's not Downton, either. The hall, the library, the drawing room—even the dining room to a point, are all so different as space is given to the different officers who are residing there. Granny can't stand it, but Sybil feels, perhaps for the first time, a special kinship with the house.

Like her, Downton seems to be…useful.

So many rooms that are locked up when not in use are open now, and the presence of the house in the area truly is making a difference for the returning soldiers. Perhaps this was Downton's destiny? Just as Tom Bellasis said that she was "made for this", maybe that is also true for the house?

She's on her rounds when Edith comes looking for her. "Sybil!" her sister hisses. She's waving a piece of paper and her face looks ashen. Sybil feels her heart sink. "This just arrived…I think you better read it."

She swallows and nods her head, taking the paper from Edith's hands and tries to keep her own from trembling as she reads the telegram.

The message is short. The words are simple.

But their impact leaves her numb.

_Tom Bellasis is dead._

"I'm so sorry…" Edith whispers, and when Sybil looks at her sister she can see sympathetic tears in her eyes. Edith wasn't as close as Sybil was to the Bellasis', but her sister has always worn her heart on her sleeve.

Sybil swallows, though her throat suddenly feels like a desert. "I…" she blinks, just…overcome with shock by this news. "I…I need to…" she stumbles, and Edith clutches her elbow, her eyes wide with worry.

"Sybil!?"

She shakes her head. "I'm fine, just…lightheaded," she swallows, trying her best to keep the bile that threatens to rise, down. "I…I need to telephone his family."

"Sybil—"

But she ignores her sister and manages to make it to the library on her own, not pausing to acknowledge any one as she passes, just going directly to the telephone. _I should go in person_, and she plans to. She will go to offer her condolences, but right now she just needs to speak to his mother, because it's so hard to believe that her childhood friend, who truly is a gifted doctor but who seems so doubtful, but at the same time seems to have such high regard for her…is dead.

When the call goes through, Sybil is surprised to hear Imogen's voice.

"Oh Sybil!" her friend wails, and for the next ten minutes, Sybil sits patiently as she listens to Imogen's crying. When her sobs seem to die down, Imogen murmurs, "thank you for calling; it's good to hear your voice."

"I would have come—"

"No, this is fine," Imogen reassures. "Mama is indisposed…has been ever since the news arrived," she lowers her voice. "And…please don't be offended, but I do not think she would have handled _you_ being here very well."

Sybil is surprised by her friend's words, and isn't sure how to respond.

"It's just that…" Imogen sighs, her voice still low. "Forgive me, but…Mama had such high hopes that you and Tom…" her voice trails off and Sybil feels the blood drain from her face, as well as quickly return and burn her cheeks.

She remembers that day, when Tom Bellasis covered her hand with his. She stopped him from saying anything further, but the way his voice sounded, and the way he was looking at her…

"Oh Sybil, he didn't deserve this!"

_None of them do,_ Sybil thinks.

"He wasn't even fighting! He was traveling in an ambulance when a bomb went off—"

"W-w-what?" Sybil stammers, interrupting Imogen's sentence.

"Exactly! He had gone to tend to injured soldiers, but apparently there was some sort of explosion, and the entire ambulance…" her voice trails off and she's crying again.

And Sybil feels sick.

_His ambulance wasn't the only one, there were others; it could have been one of the others!_

"I don't know when the funeral will be, but despite what I told you about Mama, will you still come? Please?"

She numbly nods her head and then realizing her friend can't see her, murmurs into the telephone, her voice so soft, "of course."

She hangs up then and stares at the floor, the room spinning around her.

_It's not true, it isn't possible, I would know, I just…I WOULD KNOW!_

She staggers out of the library and again, ignores everyone she passes, and she doesn't stop moving until she reaches the garage and calls to the chauffeur to take her into the village, to the telegraph office, as fast as possible!

She spends a small fortune on sending a telegram to Sister Agatha, as well as paying the return telegram which she hopes the woman will reply to, _immediately. _Of course, knowing Sister Agatha, she is probably at the field hospital, and so who knows when she will read it, let alone reply? But Sybil refuses to leave, in fact she tells the driver to go back to the house without her, that she'll walk back on her own. And so the waiting begins…

Two and a half hours pass before a reply finally arrives. They are the longest hours of her life.

She practically rips the paper from the hand of the woman at the telegraph office, and starts to read.

"I'm so sorry…" the woman whispers, but Sybil doesn't hear her.

She doesn't hear anything.

The paper falls from her hands, just as her own knees crumple beneath her.

_Nurse Crawley _[stop]_  
I regret to inform you _[stop]_  
Tom Branson was killed in an ambulance explosion _[stop]_  
on the morning of April 19 _[stop]_  
alongside Capt. Bellasis _[stop]

_To be continued..._


	26. Chapter 26

_*peeks out from hiding place* Hi everyone. Ok, all I will say is just STICK with the story! And thank you for continuing to read :o) _

_**Prompt:** "I thought my life was over."_

* * *

When William had died, Edith was the one who drew her out of her grief. When Lt. Courtney died, it was Tom. But unlike those other times, and unlike all the soldiers she has grieved for since…this time, there is no one she can turn to, no one to help draw her out (although she's not entirely sure she wants to be drawn out).

They don't understand why she's shut herself away; they try, bless, but unless she tells them everything, they will never understand.

…And she fears that even then, they still won't.

"_You weren't really in love; it was a passing fancy, a farce, and juvenile lark!"_

How do you explain to someone that the reason you're inconsolable is because the fiancé whom they've never met, never even knew existed (but was the true reason to why you didn't come back to Downton for Christmas)...is dead?

"Sybil?"

Cousin Isobel. Mama must be desperate.

"Sybil, dear…may I have a word?"

_No, go away._ She doesn't say that though; she doesn't say anything. She stares at her reflection, taking note of her pale complexion, her gaunt cheeks, the red circles around her eyes, which look sunken in and hollow…

She hates crying in front of others, but she cried in front of Tom, she revealed herself to him at her most vulnerable.

"_You're beautiful,"_ he told her, when she turned her head and wiped away at her cheeks, fussing over her appearance. He tilted her face and bent his head to brush his lips against her swollen nose and puffy eyes.

Fresh tears start to fall; cold and bitter.

"Sybil?"

Her cousin is persistent. Sybil sighs and rises to her feet. When she reaches the door, she only opens it a crack.

"Oh my dear," Isobel murmurs, her eyes filled with nothing but the sweetest concern as she looks at her. "Forgive me, but…may I?"

Sybil simply steps aside. It's pointless to fight her cousin; that's perhaps why she admires her so?

"You look pale, my dear...have you eaten anything?"

The thought of food just turns her stomach. Ever since she learned the news, she can't keep anything down. Not that she has much of an appetite anyway (grief has an interesting way of starving people).

Isobel sits on the edge of her bed. "Were you close to this…Tom?"

Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open in surprise.

And then just as quickly it shuts.

It's not _her_ Tom, to whom her cousin is referring to. And naturally, that's who they all think her tears are for.

"We were childhood friends," she simply answers, her voice monotone. She is sad for Tom Bellasis, truly. But he's not the reason for her behavior, for the cold tears that dry on her cheeks.

"I understand that he was a doctor?"

Sybil nods her head. "Yes," she whispers. _And _my Tom_ was an ambulance driver, who volunteered to help, despite his personal feelings about the War and Britain's unjust treatment of Ireland. He came to watch over his cousin, and after his cousin's death, returned, because he had a job to do, to help those boys and remember their names, even though they were seen as nothing more than "just boys". And before the War he was a chauffeur, and he's political; he was going to bring great changes to Ireland and the world! And he loved me, and I love him, and I was going to marry him—_

"Mother?"

Both Sybil and Isobel turn their heads in surprise at the voice coming from the door. "Matthew!" Isobel gasps, rising to her feet. "How did you get to this side of the house!?"

"With great effort," he mutters, shifting himself in his wheelchair, trying to find a comfortable position, doing his best to keep the blanket on his lap (the blanket that shields his lack of legs). "Bates helped me up the stairs," he explains, knowing his mother will not be satisfied with his original cheeky answer. He turns his eyes then to Sybil, which surprises her slightly. "Actually, I came to see Sybil."

Sybil's eyes widen. She and Matthew haven't exchanged many words since their return, and he's certainly never "sought her out". But the fact that he did make an effort, to wheel himself around the various corridors to her wing of the house must mean that whatever he has to say, he thought to be of great importance.

The though the words aren't spoken, Isobel seems to understand this is a private conversation, and so murmurs how she'll go and see if Sgt. Barrow needs any help with anything, before leaving the two of them alone.

As soon as she's left the room, Matthew turns and murmurs, "I haven't seen you over the last few days."

Sybil doesn't say anything.

"I'm afraid I've been a terrible burden to Sgt. Barrow," he continues. "Not that I wasn't a burden to you, but you had a way of getting me, at least momentarily, to stop sulking."

He's trying to make her smile…and it's working, ever so slightly.

"Sybil…" his voice sounds serious. "I…I never thanked you for all that you did, after we returned."

"Matthew—"

He raises his hand and she closes her mouth. He needs to say this, and so she will allow it.

"When I learned that I could never walk again…the first thought that went through my mind was_…'why couldn't they have left me to die'?"_ He's not the first wounded man to think such things, she knows. "The 'Legless Earl'; that's what they'll call me," he sighs. "And when they paint my portrait, that's what it will show."

"Matthew—"

"I thought my life was over," he pushes on, before lifting his eyes to hers. "But…slowly…I'm starting to accept that it's not."

She nods her head in agreement with him, and watches as he wheels a little closer, until he can reach out and take her hands.

He doesn't add anything else, but she knows what he's trying to tell her, and coming from him after everything he's been through, she will graciously accept his words.

Matthew squeezes her hands and offers the tiniest of smiles. "I was actually thinking that…maybe I'm ready to join the others in the dining room tonight?" His gaze holds hers. "…Will you join me?"

She wouldn't be surprised if Mary is behind this, telling Matthew that she has been scarce these last few days. However, she can't blame her sister, and while Matthew doesn't know the truth, she does feel that he, better than anyone, understands the pain she is feeling, and will be in her corner—just as she will be in his.

Besides, facing the rest of the Crawley family will be easier if they do it together.

It is stressful, that first dinner back. It's stressful for both of them, but Mary is ready to rescue them when things begin to feel too smothering. And it isn't missed on Sybil that at one point, Mary's hand reaches over to Matthew's lap, where his left hand rests, and gives it a tender squeeze.

The sight makes her heart feel like it could burst with both joy and envy.

The next day is Tom Bellasis' funeral, and while her mother coddles, Sybil is now determined to go. They died together, her two Tom's; one a dear childhood friend, the other, the love of her life. Today is the funeral for one, but she will treat it as if it's the funeral for both.

But it isn't easy. She knew it wouldn't be easy, especially when she receives sympathetic looks that are not deserved. It seems Lady Bellasis wasn't the only one who shared a vision that Sybil and her friend were more to each other. Good heavens, they weren't even courting, and yet there are people coming up to her, offering _her_ condolences! And all the while, she can't help but think about the other Tom, _her Tom, _who no one here knows, who no one here will ever know—

"_Sybil!?"_ Mary's frightened voice fills her ear as the world begins to spin and blur, and the last thing she hears is her sister crying out for help as she crumples to the ground.

…When she wakes, she's in her bed, and Cousin Isobel is sitting close by, dabbing her brow with a cool cloth. "Ah, there you are," her cousin softly murmurs, a tender smile on her face. "How are you feeling?"

In truth, she's disoriented, and confused.

"You fainted," Isobel explains. "Your parents insisted that Dr. Clarkson come and have a look at you."

Sybil simply nods her head, and starts to sit up…but she catches the look on her cousin's face, a look of grave seriousness.

"Sybil…" Isobel lowers her voice. "Were you…aware?"

She frowns. "Aware?"

Isobel sighs and gently takes Sybil's hands in hers. "…Of the baby?"

_To be continued..._


	27. Chapter 27

_So how many of you called it? ;oP stick with me, we only have 4 more chapters left! (and thank you for continuing to read!) Also, I've given up on trying to keep it 1000 or lower. Even under 1500 is difficult!_

_**Prompt**: "That is one hell of a mess."_

* * *

"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!?"

There's an awkward pause and several faces glow red, including Robert Crawley's as he realizes what he just asked. He whirls to Matthew and demands, "HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN!?"

"PAPA!" both Sybil and Mary gasp, the latter taking hold of Matthew's hand and squeezing it tightly. "Papa, _do not_ take this out on Matthew!" Mary fiercely growls.

Sybil nods her head from where she sits, on Mary's other side. "That's right, if you're going to blame someone, blame me—"

"I _DO_ BLAME YOU!" her father snarls, and then winces and backs away, especially after the fearsome look his wife has given him.

Sybil lifts her chin, amazed at the courage that is flowing through her right now when but an hour ago she was trembling with fear for the news she was going to be breaking to all of them.

_I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant with Tom Branson's child…_

Perhaps that's the answer? Tom's child—_their child_—is giving her courage?

"I'm not a little girl, Papa, I don't need someone to 'look after me'—"

"The evidence would suggest otherwise," her father mutters, shooting a glare at her stomach, causing Sybil's hands to rise and protectively cover it.

"Robert, please," her grandmother speaks, adding her voice to the fray at last. "The important question you have failed to ask…" she turns and looks directly into Sybil's eyes. "Who is the father?"

"Oh, Mama—" her father groans, but the Dowager Countess holds up a hand to silence him.

The time has come. With her hands still hugging her belly, Sybil answers, "His name was Tom…"

"—Bellasis!?" her mother gasps. _"Tom Bellasis!?"_

Sybil sighs and shakes her head. "No, Mama, _nothing_ happened between myself and Tom Bellasis; no, he…" she pauses, needing to collect herself. She hasn't spoken his name out loud since she learned of his death. "His name was…was Tom Branson."

Matthew lifts his head at this. "Branson?" he repeats, looking at Sybil for confirmation, his eyes wide with surprise. Sybil blushes and nods her head.

"Do you know him?" her father demands, his eyes flicking back and forth between them.

Matthew swallows and glances at Sybil before turning back to Robert. "I did, he…he was the one who found me."

All eyes turn to him, including Sybil's; she hasn't heard this story.

"I thought I was dead," Matthew begins, and Mary's hand grips his a little harder. "There were…" he pauses, either because it's difficult to remember or because the memory is difficult to speak; probably a bit of both.

"There were…several bodies on top of me," he manages to explain, which causes both Edith and their mother to gasp in horror and cover their mouths. "I was unconscious. But…somehow, Branson found me and managed to pull me free and get me onto that ambulance."

Mary has taken Matthew's hand into both of hers, and she looks ready to cry. Her words are so soft, but Sybil knows she's heard her sister correctly. "I owe this man everything…"

_He's never left a man behind._ That sounds just like her Tom. Perhaps if he and driven that ambulance faster, or left earlier before the explosion had happened, he would still be alive? But no, her Tom wasn't the kind of man to leave another who needed help. In fact, if she learned that he had stopped the ambulance to fetch another wounded man, just before the explosion happened, she wouldn't be surprised. That's just the sort of man he is…good and brave…

Her hand presses against her abdomen. That's the legacy of her child's father…

"While I am grateful for what this…Branson…did for you, Matthew," her father's words break through her thoughts. "He has done Sybil a great harm in…" his jaw tightens. "In…seducing her and then abandoning her—"

Sybil leaps to her feet, rage blazing in her eyes. "Tom DID NOT 'seduce me'! Give me _some_ credit, Papa, for knowing my own mind!"

"But he _did_ abandon you!" he accuses, pointing a finger at her. "A good, honorable man would have had the decency—"

"HE'S DEAD!"

Her scream echoes off the walls of the library and everyone stares in wide-eyed dismay and horror. Her mother gasps and reaches out to take her hand, her eyes filled with sympathy. As for her father, he looks flabbergasted and unsure how to respond to this revelation.

Sybil swallows, the tears silently dripping down her face, but she remains standing, her head held high. "He was killed, alongside Tom Bellasis," she explains. "So you see? He didn't 'abandon me'," she spits the words in disgust. "And for your information…we were engaged!"

A gasp goes up around the room a second time. _"Engaged!?"_ her father sputters in outrage.

"I'm twenty-one, Papa, I don't need your permission," she mutters. "Yes, he proposed and I accepted, and when the War was over, he was going to come to Downton and we were going to tell all of you, _together_, our intentions."

Her father looks ready to explode again, but it is Granny whose cane strikes the ground with such ferocity, that no one dares look anywhere else.

"There is NO SENSE in arguing over what 'might have been'," she remarks, looking pointedly at her son. "We must deal with the present facts that are before us: Sybil is with child and the father of that child is dead."

The words feel like a slap and she hugs her middle a little tighter than before, as if to comfort her child from this hard, sad truth.

"Who was he?"

Sybil blinks, not realizing she's being addressed at first. "W-what?" she stammers.

Her grandmother's patience looks quite strained. "This man, Branson; what sort of man was he?" she turns then to Matthew. "An officer, I trust?"

Matthew glances at her and Sybil feels her face grow hot. However, she is not ashamed or embarrassed of Tom or his occupations, both before and during the War, so she holds her head high and answers the question.

"No, Granny, he was not. He was a volunteer ambulance driver, originally from Dublin."

Both her father and grandmother's eyes widen at this. "So he's Irish, then?"

Sybil nods. "Yes, and before the War he worked in service as a chauffeur."

"What!?" Robert sputters. "You were going to marry _a chauffeur!?"_

"Peace, please," her grandmother mutters, before looking thoughtful. "This actually may work to our advantage."

Sybil's eyes widen and everyone else looks confused.

"Well, the fact that he was a chauffeur means that no one will have known who he was," her grandmother explains. "So that lessens the scandal considerably. And they needn't know that the two of them weren't already married—surely Murray can draw up something that looks like a marriage license?"

Sybil sinks back down to the settee. She can't believe she's hearing this…

"…And I happen to know a family of the name 'Branson' that live near Cork; I believe they may even be connected to the Howards!"

"Forgive me, Mama, but what good is that to us?" Robert groans.

Violet clicks her tongue at her son's ignorance. "If people ask, we'll simply say that this Branson is connected to them! Some distant relation…"

"Or we _don't_ say anything," her father shoots her a dark look. "We send Sybil away with Rosamond until the business is done—"

"Business?" Sybil interrupts, clutching at her middle. _"My child_ is not 'business'."

"Sybil, Papa only meant—"

"I _know_ what he meant, Mary!" she snaps.

"You can't expect—"

"I WILL NOT GIVE HIM UP!"

Silence falls over the room, and someone (Edith) tentatively whispers, "Him?"

"Or her," Sybil growls fiercely. "My child is all I have left of Tom! I will not be parted from it!" Once again she rises to her feet and meets all of them with a challenging gaze. "I have no shame in what I did, though I know that is not the same for you. So if it will make _you_ feel better, then fine, I'll go along with Granny's ruse and say that we were married, change my name to Branson—for the sake of my son or daughter, at the very least. But I warn you, if anyone does ask me about him, I will not lie and say he was some officer or pretend he has a connection to someone you deem 'worthy'. He was…" her voice cracks. "…IS worthy!"

She flees the room then, not able to look at them anymore. And she doesn't stop until she's outside, desperately needing to breathe fresh air, though she soon discovers that she's not alone.

"That is one hell of a mess…" Thomas murmurs.

She turns and glares at him. "I'm in no mood," she mutters before gazing off into the distance, taking several deep breaths. Words from long ago rush back at her, advice given but never taken. "I didn't do it…"

"Didn't do what?"

"What you said," she whispers. "You told me to 'guard my heart', but I didn't listen."

Thomas sighs and flicks ash from his cigarette. "Maybe that's because your heart is too big?"

She rolls her eyes, but does find herself smiling at him.

"It's easier said than done," he adds after a pause. "And in all honesty, even if I knew then what I know now…I have no regrets."

She knows he means Edward. She's suspected for a long time. And with one hand on her stomach, and the other reaching for Thomas, she murmurs in agreement, "me either."

_To be continued..._


	28. Chapter 28

_Jumping ahead about...7-8 months? Hmmm, what could be happening? ;oP Also, the fate of Matthew is revealed..._

_HANG IN THERE EVERYONE! Only two more chapters after this one._

_**Prompt:** "Do you trust me?"_

* * *

_November 1918_

She's hunched over a chair, gripping it tightly while her brow furrows and her eyes squeeze shut as another wave of pain flows through her. This is just the beginning, she has many more hours left to endure this agony, but endure it she must and endure it she will.

…Today she will finally meet the face of her child. Her child, born of love between an English nurse and an Irish ambulance driver.

Another wave of pain courses through her and she grits her teeth. Still, the physical pain is nothing compared to the broken heart she still carries. Her son or daughter will never know the extraordinary man who was their father, though she will do her best to tell them everything about him, about his courage, his kindness, his compassion, his stubbornness; how even though he never supported the war, he was determined to do what he could to help the boys who were fighting it. How he was proud of his Irish heritage, and yearned for his country's freedom. How he was a hard worker, who sought fairness and equality for all people, especially the poor. She meant what she said to her family all those months ago; if anyone asks, she will not lie about Tom's occupation, or pretend he was something he wasn't. She has no shame…but that doesn't mean others feel the same way.

She knew, long before this day came, that she couldn't stay at Downton, not indefinitely. While her father did speak to Murray, and together they managed to make Granny's ruse a reality, complete with a false marriage license and wedding ring, she is only "Lady Sybil Branson" by name, a name that her child will receive upon his or her birth, but for intents and purposes, is still (legally speaking) "a bastard".

Which means she is still "a fallen woman", or "damaged goods". And yes, she knows her family loves her and always will, at the same time, she knows that the shame she doesn't feel, others do, and she will not have them look upon her child with piteous or contemptuous eyes.

No, before her son or daughter has any comprehension about such things, they will leave; though she knows not where. America, perhaps? Go and live with her grandmother in New York? No one there will know her, and it will be easier, perhaps, to make a new start.

But then she thinks about how far away that is from everything…including Tom's beloved Ireland. And she thinks about his family, particularly about his mother, who he told her stories about. A portly woman, with a red-hot temper and a heart of gold…

She's about to gain another grandchild, fathered by the son who she has lost.

"Sybil?" she grits her teeth and turns to the door to see Cousin Isobel enter. "When did it start?"

She breathes heavily before answering. "About…sometime after…four this morning?"

Cousin Isobel does the math in her head before nodding and coming over to Sybil's side. "Well, let's take a turn around the room; walking does sometimes help. Do you trust me?"

Sybil simply nods as she sucks in another breath as another wave of pain peaks, then subsides.

"Good, concentrate on your breathing, just like that, and take my hand, and…there we go, just a simple stroll…we even have a garden view," her cousin chuckles, attempting to bring humor to the situation, which Sybil does appreciate.

She glances towards the window that looks out at the gardens behind the house. There's a clear view of a bench, where Mary is sitting, with Matthew beside her. She's reading something to him…and her left hand is in his right.

It can't be seen from here...but there's a ring on Mary's finger.

A fortnight ago, they were married. Despite the fact that she felt like she was "the size of Downton itself", Sybil stood proudly next to Edith as their sister held Matthew's hands and repeated the vows Mr. Travis read to them, in the beauty and privacy of those very gardens.

It was not the elaborate wedding ceremony their mother had always wanted to give her, but in that moment, nothing could have been more perfect.

Well, one thing…but sadly, that was not possible.

Despite her own depression, Sybil is happy for her cousin and her sister. She always knew they loved each other and hopes that maybe, if something good can come out of tragedy, the realization that yes, life truly is too short and precious to second-guess what the heart clearly knows.

"The ceremony in the Hall was very nice," Isobel tells her as they make another lap around the room. "When the clock struck eleven, we had a moment of silence."

Sybil nods her head, wishing she could have been there. It would have been a way to honor Tom, as well as all the other men whom she has tended to over the years.

There's another knock on the door and Sybil glances up as Dr. Clarkson, followed by her mother, enters the room. "How's the young mother doing?" he says, ever friendly. He's changed from his military uniform, something Sybil has gotten so used to seeing him in, that it's odd to see him now in his white coat.

"The contractions are getting closer," Isobel informs him and Dr. Clarkson encourages her to lie down so that he can examine her.

The next few hours are some of the most excruciating Sybil has ever had to endure.

"Keep pushing Sybil!" Isobel tells her. "The head is crowning!"

God it hurts! She's crying because of the pain, and because of all the people gathered downstairs, waiting for news, Tom isn't one of them.

_He's not downstairs, but he is here. Think of that! He's watching over you, right now! Telling you to push, whispering loving words in your ear, holding your hand and stroking your hair and urging you on, just a few more pushes, just a few more pushes, just a few more—_

The room erupts with the sound of a child's wail.

Sybil collapses back onto the bed, the sheets drenched with her sweat, her entire body feeling like rubber. But the second time she hears that cry, she somehow finds the strength to sit up, and her arms are already reaching out, desperate to see her child, to see _Tom's child_—

"It's a boy!" Isobel gasps, beaming and smiling as she meets Sybil's eyes.

A boy.

A boy!

Oh Lord, does he have Tom's eyes? His nose, his chin?

"Please," she begs, needing to see, needing to hold him…

"Here," Isobel grins, bringing the newly cleaned and ever screaming newborn to his mother.

Her hands are trembling, and yet they've never felt stronger.

"Ohhhh…" she manages to gasp as she looks down at her perfect treasure. Yes…yes, she can see so much of her Tom there! And the tears flow freely, but all she can feel is happiness; wonderful, wonderful happiness!

Her son…_their son_…is here at last.

_Tom, can you see him? Isn't he beautiful? _

"What are you going to name him?" Isobel asks her, a tearful smile on her own face.

There was never any doubt. "Tom…" she answers, before looking back at her son, whose cries have faded as he now gazes up at her with wide, handsome blue eyes. "Tommy," she giggles, before lowering her lips to brush against his brow.

_To be continued..._


	29. Chapter 29

_**Prompt:** "I'm lost."_

* * *

_March 1919_

Today marks the four-month anniversary of Tommy's birth. Sybil sits in her room, in a rocking chair that looks out at the gardens, gazing at the early spring blossoms that are just starting to bud while her son nurses from her breast. She turns her head and smiles down at him, her finger rising to stroke his cheek. He's gotten big, and is growing strong, according to Dr. Clarkson who gave him an "excellent bill of health" two days ago.

This is important, considering the journey the two of them are about to take.

She sighs as her gaze returns to the window, looking just beyond the gardens, towards the winding road that leads to the front of the house. How many times has she stared at that road, hoping, just hoping that at any moment, Tom would be seen running down its path, shouting her name and waving his arms, telling her it was all a mistake, that he's alive, that he's fine, that Sister Agatha was wrong…

…But the War has been over for several months now.

By the end of January, the last of the officers who were convalescing at Downton had gone, and the house was once again restored to how Sybil remembered it.

Thomas was offered a chance to stay on, to serve as a footman, but he politely declined. He's gone to London, to serve at a military hospital there for the recovering soldiers, and Sybil knows he will do well.

"_Be good to your mother," he told Tommy, who smiled and gurgled at him, making him chuckle before looking at Sybil and teasing, "Go on, admit it, you named him after me."_

She misses him, very much, but knows they will keep close correspondence.

"Sybil?" Edith's voice is heard from the other side of her door. "May I come in?"

Tommy is finished, so Sybil covers herself and beckons her sister to enter, turning and smiling as she rises from the chair and gently rubs her hand on Tommy's back.

Edith is glowing…pregnancy suits her.

Over Christmas she reconnected with Sir Anthony Strallan, and by New Year's they were engaged. Like Mary, Edith didn't care about a grand ceremony either (poor Mama), she was just eager to not waste another minute, and before January was over, they too were married. And while Edith isn't quite showing yet (at least not obviously so), the same cannot be said for Mary, who is due later that summer.

The three Crawley sisters, all of them mothers…but only two are married.

"I see your suitcase is packed," her sister remarks upon entering the room. Despite Edith's friendly tone, Sybil can see concern in her eyes. "Sybil…do you really think this is wise? I mean…Tommy is still so little—"

"Dr. Clarkson believes he's healthy enough to travel, and it's not a long journey."

"Yes, but…" Edith doesn't finish her sentence, but Sybil understands. Naturally they're against it, especially their father.

"She has a right to know," is what Sybil says. "She's his grandmother."

"Yes, but—"

"And my friend Susan and her husband will be traveling with me," she lies, quickly looking away before Edith sees the ruse. It wasn't meant to be a lie, Susan and her husband really had intended on accompanying her to Dublin, but with the rise of Spanish Flu patients at Susan's hospital in Liverpool, she simply can't get away, but Sybil chose to keep this information to herself. She knows if she doesn't go now, she might lose her nerve. Because what will Tom's mother think upon seeing her? How will she react when she learns that she, the English daughter of an aristocrat, has birthed his son out of wedlock? Will she even believe her when she tells her the news?

Edith sighs but doesn't try again. Her family has quickly learned that they can only argue so far with her, especially since she's become a mother and insists on seeing to the care of her son, herself (without the aid of a nanny). "Well, I'll tell Alfred you're almost ready," are her parting words, before turning and leaving Sybil to change Tommy's nappy.

After he's changed and dressed, Sybil picks up a book to put in her handbag (James Joyce). Tom gave her that book, and in it, she's stuffed her notes about his family and his mother's house, anything and everything she can remember that he's told her. She opens the book one last time to make sure everything she needs is there…and gasps as something small and green floats to the ground.

_The clover…_

Memories of their last afternoon together come flooding back…

"_I know your lot is used to getting fancy rings when they become engaged—"_

"_Oh honestly, Tom—"_

"_But while it's not that," he chuckled, plucking the tiny plant from the poppy field. "It is 'a symbol of Ireland' to carry with you…and just as these little things are abundant and will grow practically anywhere," he looked deeply into her eyes. "…So too is my love for you, Sybil Crawley; abundant, constantly growing, and anywhere you go…it will be with you."_

She sucks in a breath and tries her hardest to hold back the tears. Tommy makes a sound and she turns to him and smiles, placing the pressed clover delicately back inside the pages of James Joyce.

The journey is long, and feels even longer because of her nervousness. Tommy, however, despite his young age, hardly fusses, and Sybil wonders if that's because he's somehow aware he's traveling to see his father's homeland?

When they do arrive in Dublin, the sun is setting, and both mother and child are exhausted, but they've come this far that instead of immediately going to a hotel, she pays a driver to follow her odd directions to where she believes Mrs. Branson resides, the entire time her heart beating so loudly that she's sure all of Dublin can hear it.

And despite her strange directions…before she knows it, they've found the place.

This is it…

Just to be sure, she asks a passing child if this is where the Bransons live, and the girl stares at her with wide eyes…before turning and rushing towards the door, shouting in a loud voice, "NAN!"

Oh God…

The world seems to freeze as Sybil, holding a somewhat agitated infant, is greeted but a few seconds later by the woman who would have been her mother-in-law. Just as he described, Mrs. Branson is petite, but portly, her cheeks flushed no doubt from the hot stove she was leaning over. She looks irritated by the interruption. "Aye?" she addresses Sybil, her expression harsh as she wipes her hands on her apron.

Sybil swallows, and Tommy begins to cry. "Mrs. Branson?" she finally manages to murmur.

Mrs. Branson sighs and folds her arms across her chest. "Did one of mine do something?"

Sybil blinks. "What? OH! No, no, I…" she shifts Tommy in her arms, the boy starting to wail even louder. She tries to soothe him by rocking him. "…I um…forgive me, I am sorry for the interruption, but…I…" oh Lord, how does she say this? Even after all the rehearsing she's done, nothing could have prepared her for standing directly in front of his mother while holding her grandson.

Mrs. Branson eyes Sybil's son, whose cries have only increased, and then steps aside. "Best come in, your little one could use a change, I imagine."

She's thankful, but at the same time she's terrified. Once inside, she's ushered towards a tiny parlor, and Mrs. Branson tells the other grandchild who had announced Sybil's arrival to fetch a clean nappy from the wash line.

"Now, what's this about?" his mother asks, eyeing her suspiciously.

Oddly enough, now that they're inside, Tommy's cries have quieted.

Sybil takes a deep breath and summons all her courage. "I…I knew your son," she finally starts.

Mrs. Branson's brow furrows. "…Which one?"

Her courage is beginning to flee. "…Tom," she manages to say, half expecting the woman's face to go pale at the mention of her deceased son.

Mrs. Branson's frown only deepens. "Tom?"

"Uncle Tommy?" the other grandchild reappears with the fresh nappy.

"Hush," Mrs. Branson tells the girl before turning back to Sybil. "I'm lost…why are you asking about Tom?"

_God help me._ "I was a nurse, during the War, and…and…"

The door opens and all three heads turn towards it as a man enters, the girl leaving her grandmother's side and squealing, "There's a pretty lady to see you!"

…The world stops.

_Tom._

And she faints.

_To be concluded..._


	30. Chapter 30

_Longest chapter, but I don't think you'll mind after everything that's happened ;o)_

_This is the last chapter, though I do think I will write an epilogue. AND at some point, I will go back and "retell" this story but from Tom's POV, so be on the lookout for that in the future! And without any further ado (hopefully all your questions will be answered!)..._

_**Prompt:** "It's never too late."_

* * *

It's hazy at first…

She hears a voice murmuring to her, though she can't exactly make out what's being said.

She's also aware of a gentle hand stroking her brow, brushing aside loosened strands of hair.

"There now…open your eyes…"

It's a woman's voice. Her eyes slowly start to flutter open, and for a moment she just stares at the ceiling over her head, slowly realizing that it's not the ceiling of her bedroom…or any room she's at all familiar with.

…And then she remembers.

"OH! Easy my dear, easy…" the woman soothes as she sits up a bit too quickly, the room still spinning slightly.

She's lying on a couch of some kind…and hovering over her is a woman—Mrs. Branson, and standing near her is a little girl, who watching her with large, curious eyes, as she holds a tea cup for her grandmother.

"Here now, drink this," Mrs. Branson encourages, taking the cup for the child and offering to Sybil to drink.

But she's not interested in tea, she's only interested in one thing, and her eyes fly to the door where—how long ago was it? She looks at Mrs. Branson for answers, but the woman is still trying to encourage her to drink the tea.

Where is he? He was standing there! She saw him walk in! Her Tom—_HER TOM_—alive and…and…

A chill grips her heart suddenly.

…Was it her imagination?

It would make sense; she's here, in Ireland, in his mother's house…

It is possible that it all could have been a figment of her—

Her son. Now she's frantic. "Where's—?"

"Shh, it's alright, he's fine, his nappy needed changing and—"

But she isn't calming down. She needs her son, needs to hold him in her arms, desperately. "Please!" she gasps, gripping the older woman's arm, before turning her head and calling out (as if he will answer her), "Tommy!?"

The little girl's eyes widen, and even Mrs. Branson stiffens.

"_TOMMY!?"_ Sybil's voice is strained and she's on the verge of sobbing hysterically—

Someone enters the room then.

Someone holding her son.

No…not "someone"…

Sybil stares, her heart stopping and her breath catching in her throat as…Tom…looks back at her, while gently cradling her son.

_Their_ son.

Sybil's eyes are only on him. "…Tom?"

Mrs. Branson gets to her feet and puts her arm around the little girl who is just fascinated by everything that's happening. "We'll be in the next room," is all she says, and guides the child out.

Sybil doesn't dare blink; she's afraid he'll disappear again.

He approaches her, slowly, as if…he's afraid he'll frighten her. Because he has changed.

He's leaner; he's lost some muscle, and his face…

There's a long, twisted scar that begins on his neck, and travels up the left side of his face, disappearing, it seems, into his hairline, but it didn't dodge his eye…or where his eye once was.

He wears an eye patch, and when her eyes linger upon it perhaps a bit too long, he turns his face, as if to hide it from her view. Yet that doesn't stop him from coming closer. "Here…" he whispers, holding Tommy out for her to take, and she does, her heart immediately calming (to a point) as soon as he's in her arms.

He's asleep.

"I…"

She looks up at him.

"…I changed his nappy," he tells her, as if she's a priest and he's making a confession.

His head is still turned in a somewhat awkward angle, still trying to hide that side of his face from her vision, but with trembling fingers…she reaches out…and touches his shoulder, eliciting a gasp from both of them (it's been a year since they touched each other).

He looks back at her, his whole face in her vision again, and before he can protest or she second guess herself, she lifts her hand to his cheek, feels him flinch at first, but then relax into her touch, even to the point where's he leaning his roughened skin into her palm.

He closes his eye (his good eye) and sighs her name. "Oh, Sybil…"

Her vision is blurred due to her tears. "You're alive…"

He opens his eye and looks back at her.

"I…I thought…" _I thought you were dead._ "They told me—"

"My family too," he whispers. He takes a deep breath, and finally retells his harrowing tale, how on the day Tom Bellasis was killed, on the day of the ambulance explosion, Tom had stopped the ambulance at the sight of another man, and despite the other Tom's protests, leapt out to retrieve the wounded soldier…and no sooner had he taken two steps, did the explosion happen, hurdling his body a good hundred feet.

No one saw him…at least no British soldier. When he came to, he could barely walk…so instead he crawled, sometimes even rolling forward on his belly through the blood and the mud, completely disorientated, having no idea where he was going…until he was discovered at last by some Germans.

He was taken prisoner, and spent the next seven months as such. His wounds festered, he got sick from infection and nearly died (or so he was later told by various doctors, all of whom kept repeating, "you're lucky to be alive!"). But when he and the other prisoners were liberated…he could barely move. He had lost so much weight, and was nearly starved at that point. The months that followed were spent in a French hospital, where very few spoke English, and he didn't know any French, and so no one knew who he was, so there was no one to inform that he was alive. And he was so weak from hunger and sickness that he couldn't even lift a pen to write.

"Because of the infection, I lost my eye," he murmurs. "The doctors thought they would have to take the right one too, but thankfully, they did save it…" he looks at her and a smile curls at the corners of his mouth. "I've never been happier than this moment that they did."

There are tears flowing down her cheeks; her poor Tom has been through so much horror. "But…but you're here, so they must have realized—"

He nods. "Eventually. But...Maj. Tapsell," he mutters, and Sybil feels bile rise in her throat at the man's name. "He made 'the circuit' through the various French hospitals that had British soldiers. When they told him about me, he dismissed me as 'a mistake', because apparently I was already 'dead', according to their records."

Sybil's eyes widen. "What?"

"That was January," he sighs. "I had just had the operation, so my face was half-covered in bandages; he wouldn't have recognized me anyway, even if he did remember my face."

He could have been brought back to her sooner. He could have been reunited with his family, he could have been back in Ireland, he…

_But he's alive. He's here, you're here, and you're together! _

"Mam was livid," he chuckles softly. "A French nurse took pity on me and kept insisting that I 'wasn't dead', despite what Maj. Tapsell thought. Her messages eventually got through to someone, because I remember waking up on February morning and…there was Mam, crying and hovering over me; my mother, who's never stepped foot out of Ireland, in a French hospital!"

He looks down, and Sybil can see tears glistening on his cheek. "I…I'm so sorry…"

Alarm fills her. "What? Why? Why are you sorry?"

He looks back at her, sadness written across his face. "For…for not telling you. I should have, I wanted to, but I didn't try hard enough—"

"Tom—"

"Downton Abbey was all I knew, Downton Abbey in Yorkshire, but—"

"It doesn't matter—"

"IT DOES!" he insists, so loudly that Tommy stirs and starts to whimper. Tom looks apologetic and swallows. "It does," he repeats, his voice softer but still adamant. "In prison, and then at the hospital, _you_ were my only thought...every day I kept thinking, _I need to get back, I need to find her!_ I promised that when the War was over I would come to you...but I didn't..." his voice breaks then and he tries to turn away, but she won't let him. After all these months, she refuses to let him leave her sight.

"Tom…all I can think about right now is that this morning, I woke up in a world where I believed you were dead. And…and now _here you are_, next to me…and you're alive! That's all that matters to me, the rest is detail!"

His eye meets hers and despite his tears, he does smile. "Oh my darlin'," he murmurs, and she lifts her lips in anticipation for his kiss, something she's been dreaming about for a year, but he stops himself and pulls back. "I shouldn't, I'm sorry," he mumbles, and begins to rise again.

Sybil's eyes widen. "W-w-what?" she stammers. "What do you mean?"

His eye falls to her hand…and she realizes then that he's looking at her wedding ring.

"He's beautiful…" he murmurs, his gaze shifts to Tommy, who has opened his eyes and is sleepily gazing up at him.

He is. How could he not be? "He's your son…" she answers the unspoken question, but Tom just nods his head.

"Aye," he manages to say, his voice thick with emotion. "I…I knew the moment I held him," he gasps. He looks back at her apologetically. "I did you a great harm, Sybil."

"Don't you dare talk like them," she reprimands. She will not hear the words of her family coming out of his mouth. "You gave me our son! And I will tell you what I told them; I have no shame, whatsoever, for what we did!"

"But now I have to live with the consequences," he whispers.

She's confused. "Consequences?"

His gaze returns to her hand. "You had to do what was best for…" he takes a deep breath before saying the words. "…For our son, and yourself," he looks at her. "And…all I can hope for is that whoever your husband is, he's good to you and the child, that he makes you happy—"

He stops because she's laughing. She can't help it.

Tom looks confused. "Sybil?"

"I'm sorry!" she manages to gasp between laughs. "I'm sorry…I just…" she reaches out then and catches him completely off guard, grabbing a handful of his shirt and pulling him down to her, taking him by surprise and kissing him quite soundly. He tries to resist, but only for a second, if even that long. His lips move naturally against her own, and the kiss soon deepens, their breath ragged and quick when they do part. _"You're_ my husband," she breathily murmurs.

He lifts his head and looks back at her, confused but she can see hope in his good eye. "W-w-what?" he stammers.

Sybil can't help but giggle. _"You're_ my husband," she repeats. "This ring, the marriage license, it's all a ruse my family created! When I told them I was pregnant, Papa had his lawyer draw up the papers to make it look like I married you in France, before coming back to Downton. I even share your last name…as does Tommy."

He stares at her…and then looks at their child…and then back at her.

"...Me?" he finally manages to speak.

She can't help but smile, even as new tears begin to fall. "I'm Mrs. Sybil Branson, at least according to that document."

He stares at her again…and then slowly a smile begins to spread, and Sybil gasps as suddenly, both she and Tommy are being swept up off the couch and into Tom's arms, which still feel every bit as strong as she remembers.

"So I'm not too late?" he's on the brink of bursting.

She strokes his scarred cheek (still handsome) and shakes her head. "It's never too late…bet on you, remember?"

He laughs. "Then let's make that document official," and he's kissing her again. Sybil grins against his lips, before surrendering to the kiss, while Tommy gurgles and shakes his little fists at his parents. They part and laugh and each kiss one of their son's cheeks.

They're together again.

They're a family.

_Epilogue to follow..._


	31. Epilogue

_HERE IT IS! The *real* last chapter to this story; just a "quick" epilogue showing the Crawleys reactions to learning that Tom's alive (and a brief mention as to what happened after he and Sybil were reunited). Keep in mind that at some point later this fall, I *will* write the companion piece to this story, which will be told from Tom's POV, and that will have another epilogue that will go even further to share what happened :o) so if you have more questions, just be patient for when that story gets written!_

_THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT DURING THIS PROJECT! It was fun! Tough at times, but fun to do! I'm glad I decided to tell this story as I did, through daily "short" updates, and had the chance to explore Sybil working as a nurse on the front, and explore her and Tom's love story with that as its backdrop. But YOU made it worth it, so thank you for your readership, for following, for favoriting, and for sharing your thoughts. I really, really appreciate it._

_Once again, happy birthday **Patano**, as it was for her birthday that I wrote this story! _

_**Prompt:** "Are you sure this is what you want?"_

* * *

_April 1919_

His hand is warm and his grip is strong, but Sybil can feel it trembling too as they both stand before the Earl of Grantham and the rest of the Crawley family, seen together for the first time at last, as husband and wife.

A thrill still courses through Sybil's skin at that thought. _Wife._ She's Tom Branson's wife, in every way. Not just according to a slip of paper, but truly—his wife. And he is her husband, though in her heart, he always has been.

It's awkward, this first meeting back. Sybil was vague in her telegram about why was staying in Dublin for a several weeks, making it sound as if she were going to bond with Tommy's Irish grandmother, but then it was after the special license had been procured, and the tiny ceremony had taken place, and she really did become Mrs. Sybil Branson…did she finally write to say that Tom was not only alive, but that the two of them were now, truly married.

It didn't take long for a reply to come back.

Her sisters offered up their surprise, but also their congratulations, while her mother was very shocked, but even she sent a second telegram to say she was happy for Sybil, before scolding her for not telling her sooner so that she and Papa could come at the very least, and then going on to say she was demanding they come back to Downton and have their vows renewed so that she could be present.

As for her father…

Robert Crawley saved all of his words until the couple was standing before him in Downton's drawing room.

"…I'll accept the fact that you could not have come sooner because of what Sybil says—"

"He was a prisoner of war, Papa!"

"—but that does not excuse the fact that you seduced a young girl, stole her virginity—"

"PAPA!"

"ROBERT!"

"He didn't 'steal' anything that I didn't freely give!"

"Oh please," her grandmother groans, looking like she might ring for smelling salts.

"I did not 'seduce' anyone," Tom growls, squeezing Sybil's hand. "Give your daughter some credit—"

"Yes, yes, I know," her father grumbles, having heard this rebuff before.

"Robert…" her mother tries to reason, her voice soft yet firm. "Tom is alive…that is what is important. He and Sybil are married, _truly married_, and Tommy has a father again. We should focus on that and be glad."

"GLAD!?" Robert Crawley turns and points a finger at Tom. Sybil stiffens and grips his hand a little harder. "What do you do? How can you possibly hope to provide for her _AND_ my grandson!?"

Tom lifts his chin. "My brother owns a garage; after I returned to Ireland he offered me some work and would like to make me a partner—"

"_WORKING AT A GARAGE!?"_

"PAPA!" Sybil hisses.

"With all due respect, milord," though there is no "respect" in Tom's voice, but then he hasn't truly been shown respect from her father. "But you seem to think that Sybil can only be happy in some version of 'Downton Abbey', and if that were true, she would not have married me."

"Well she'll soon learn how very different her life will be," he mutters.

Sybil lifts her chin. "It will be a life filled with love; that is all I know." She squeezes her husband's hand before continuing. "I am aware that it will be hard at times, and different, but that's every life, and every marriage!" Her eyes fly to her mother, as well as her sisters, whose husbands are also there, Sir Anthony standing somewhat awkwardly in the background, and Matthew who has been leaning forward, looking ready to speak at any given moment should that moment arise. "But…after everything I experienced while serving as a nurse during the War…" she shudders as some of the memories flow through her. "…I have learned how different life away from Downton can be. I have lived it. And I look forward, very much, to living a life with Tom, our son, and any more children we may be blessed to have."

Her father opens his mouth, but Matthew finally takes this moment to speak. "Not that Tom needs my validation," he first states. "But I will proudly call him my brother-in-law, should anyone ask. He saved my life, and thanks both to him and Sybil, I am now married myself with a child on the way…" Mary leans forward then and takes her husband's hand. "…Tom, I am glad you are part of this family, and I wish you and Sybil every joy."

"As do I," Sir Anthony adds, speaking for the first time since he and Edith arrived. "Though I do not know the chap," he mumbles somewhat embarrassingly as he looks at the other faces around the room. "But…I can see how happy he makes Sybil, which is just as Edith makes me feel, so…"

Sybil tearfully smiles at both her brothers-in-law; her sisters have chosen very wisely.

"Robert…" Cora Crawley murmurs, looking at her husband and telling him with that look to let go of his prejudices; it's time to move forward.

He sighs and glances at Sybil before murmuring, "…Are you sure this is what you want?"

She's never been surer of anything. "I am." She doesn't even look at her father, just at her husband.

"Well…" her father sighs, glancing at her grandmother who just gives him a silent nod. "Then I suppose you can take my blessing with you, not that you ever needed nor that you want it—"

"Thank you, Papa," Sybil tells him, leaving Tom's side just for a moment to hug her father, relief flooding through her at his words. She can still see he is struggling…but Lord bless him, he is also trying. And never is that more obvious than when he steps towards Tom and offers him his hand to shake.

Which he does.

"If you mistreat her, or the boy, I see to it that you're torn apart by wild dogs."

Sybil groans, but Tom does smile at his father-in-law's words, before replying, "I'd expect no less."

"Are we quite finished?" her grandmother interrupts.

Everyone sighs or groans before turning to the Dowager Countess and nodding. "Good," she holds her arm out for Tom, who does come to take it, before insisting that he lead her into the dining room. "So I understand that you're political Mr. Branson? Have you ever thought about a career in that?"

**THE END**


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